Capture Me
by Author of Sin
Summary: He took photos for a reason. He took photos to capture the moment. It wasn't to prove he was there; to prove that he was present. It wasn't solely for work. It was to show how lonely he was. It was to show that he was left aside from the bright things in life. Who would have thought Arthur's temporary co-worker could be so romantic? [FrUK, AU, Porn/Mature Content]
1. Chapter 1

There was a sound of a shutter, causing Arthur Kirkland to jump in surprise with a gentle gasp leaving the pink folds of his lips. A hand upon his chest, he allowed himself to breathe, before turning around to make eye contact with blackened lens on a white Polaroid camera. The device was soon lowered, as a pair of shimming, blue eyes peeked out from above it, widening the slightest as if the photographer had just seen the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Pourquoi es-tu si beau?" the stranger spoke, an orange hue from the sunset radiating from behind Arthur's head reflecting onto his face, making it look more slim and mature. Hazel eyes couldn't help but notice the slight, spiky hairs protruding from the other's jaw, his long, blond hair tied back in a low pony tail that was held together by a red ribbon. His upper body was clothed in a loose sweater that leaned to one side, showing off a bony, fragile-looking collarbone, and over a shoulder was a black strap of his bag that hung loosely down by his waist. To Arthur, this man looked like a complete artist, painfully stereotyping the French people of this beautiful country.

"I—uh… did you just take my photo?" Arthur replied, cheeks dusted a light pink in colour. Blinking a couple of times, the blond soon held up the phone he had in his hand back up to his ear as he shuffled in his spot on the park bench to face the sunset once more. "Alfred, I'll talk to you later."

"Hey, wait—"

With a sigh, Arthur pocketed his phone into his pants, before standing up from his spot and turning back around yet again to face the stranger from earlier. However, he was nowhere to be seen. Looking around, the blond searched with his eyes for the other.

"Hey, where'd you—Jesus!" the Englishman exclaimed loudly, holding up his arms in front of his face a little too late, when the French guy had taken yet another photo. Somehow, he had ended up behind Arthur. The blond yelled once more, "Would you stop that?!" as he fixed his hair and grabbed the handle of his luggage back and began stepping away. "I don't need to be bothered by someone taking photos of me. Do all you French people do this? It's rude and an invasion of my privacy, so stop it—"

"Prendre," the stranger said, taking a third photo. However, before he could grab the film for himself, Arthur leaped forward and took it instead. The rage soon began to build up inside of him as his eyes stared down at the photo of himself.

"I look stupid," Arthur said angrily through his teeth, fingers tightening as he held the photo with more grip. However, forcing himself to breathe normally, his hazel eyes looked up at the smiling man before him, speaking up once more, "Arrêter, s'il vous plait." He had said that last part with his eyes narrowed and his head tilted back in a 'sassy' and 'know-it-all' sort of way. This only pried a challenging smirk from the stranger with the camera though.

"Ah, so he does speak French," he said, a thick French accent rolling off of his tongue with each English word spoken. To Arthur, his accent sounded extremely sexy, but his behaviour was off-putting. He was attractive, too, so if he had just stayed quiet and sat there peacefully, Arthur probably would have engaged him first for conversation. But, now, the Englishman hated this guy more than anything at the moment.

"Ugh, what do you want? I was sitting here waiting for my—"

"Ah, you're Arthur Kirkland then, oui?"

"Y-Yes, that's me. Why? Are you— …_fuck_."

The blond with the longer locks laughed luringly, causing Arthur to frown in annoyance at the other as the photo in his hand began to crumple beneath his clenching fists, just as he spoke, "Francis Bonnefoy at your service!"

"Fuck me," Arthur cursed beneath his breath, hazel eyes casting off to the side in a complete 'tsundere' – a word Francis had learnt from all his time reading manga – way, with cheeks as red as crimson to reveal his anger.

"_Baiser-moi?_ I was thinking we should get to know each other first, but I don't mind doing it as soon as we get back to my place," Francis replied, biting his bottom lip just as Arthur went to look back at him. The shorter blond frowned even more.

"Fuck you," he said in reply, moving to take hold of his luggage handle as soon as he shoved the photo Francis had taken earlier into his coat pocket. "Do I _have_ to stay with you? I want to work with someone more professional."

"I'm the best you can get, _Arthur_," Francis said, emphasising his accent on the other's name by pronouncing it in French – saying it as arTUYR rather than arTHAR. The simple tease made the English-speaker's lips curve into a fine line that spoke 'annoyed'. "It was either me or some amateur. Plus, I'm the one providing you a place to stay – alongside my cooked meals – free of charge. You should thank me more, amour."

"Let's just get back to your place because I was on the phone to someone," Arthur said, his free hand readjusting the grey, monotonous scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. "I want to at least finish my conversation… _idiot._"

"Oh? Let me guess, was it your girlfriend?"

Arthur paused for a moment, looking at the other blond with a sort of 'Are you serious?' look on his face, before replying with a loud voice, "I'm single! I don't have a girlfriend! W-Well, I-I… I don't need one! So shut up!"

Francis' gentle laughter soothed over the other's loud, frantic voice, before a thick French accent had filled the air, "Good…," he said gently, placing his Polaroid camera into his bag, "Less work for me."

"Wait, did you just call me easy?" Arthur asked, a gentle tone accompanying his voice, before his free hand that wasn't holding the handle of his luggage was taken by the other man and pulled along.

"I'll take you," Francis said, not taking to caution that the foreigner he was currently dragging was almost tripping over his feet. "I'll let you settle in whilst I make you dinner. What do you want?"

"I-I don't know!" the shorter blond exclaimed, feeling a little dizzy when he had arrived at Francis' vehicle. Taking a moment to regain his composure, his attention was kept solely on the Frenchman's car, it looking like a normal vehicle, but… worn-down. He wasn't even listening when words like "soaked in wine" and "steak" was said from the other.

Arthur's attention was stolen by Francis once more, however, when his luggage bag was taken and thrown in the back seat. Sitting in the passenger seat and strapping himself in, his head turned to the side to find a seated Francis staring right back at him.

"How does that sound?" Francis asked, revealing pearly-white teeth with a gentle smile. Arthur frowned, pissed to see the other so happy for some reason, before turning his gaze out of the wind shield.

"Sounds great," he replied, earning a, "good!" from the other.

During the long ride from the park that was situated beside the airport Arthur had arrived in, the blond's thoughts kept racing through his head.

_He's stuck here for a year. _

Being a journalist, his job wasn't very fun. Chasing after stories, taking shitty photos of the scene, having to stay up at 3am with a hot coffee to write the article up to then get yelled at by his editor for 'being late' or having 'sloppy sentences'… it wasn't a _dream_ job. And, yet, he was the best at it. His articles were always featured, he always wrote the top stories, but he could never capture the evidence! His photos were always blurry or just… unaligned.

That's why he was sent here. This is what happens when Europe's two top magazines company decides to work together to capture this year's most exciting events. Arthur had wondered if he'd be travelling to other European countries alongside Francis. Well, if that's the case, then it could happen.

Francis was a top photographer, Arthur had seen his works. He had imagined him to be more… mature, though. This French guy just seemed like a complete, useless dolt, yet his photographs spoke differently.

Seriously, the two companies thought well about making their best photographer and their best writer to work together… but with bashing personalities, will it really work out?

"I just want to go home…," Arthur mumbled beneath his breath, his arm rested up on the car door with his hand holding his face as he looked outside at the beautiful streets of France.

"What was that?" Francis asked, looking to the side at the other. Arthur was acting like the immature one now, though. It was practically two kids doing an adult's job.

"Nothing, keep your eyes on the road."

Francis nodded, obeying, "Will do."

Although, thinking about it… Arthur didn't get on well with his past partners. Of course he'd get into fights with this one. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't throw a tantrum and demand to work alone or get a new partner – he was _stuck_ with Francis. Literally, stuck. They were even going to be living together! Might as well marry Arthur off if they're going to this extent…

_No,_ Arthur thought, sitting upright as he gained the idle curiousity of Francis. _No, I'm here for business purposes only. Just one year and I can go home. Just one year and I'm free._

"I wake up at 6 every morning," Francis said, breaking Arthur from his line of thought. "I'm at the office by 8."

"Why are you telling me this?" Arthur asked, looking annoyed as usual.

"So you know what time to get up," the Frenchman then replied. Silence prevailed for a moment between them, before he continued, "I know you're here to capture the 'biggest' and most 'exciting' events for our magazine companies, but we'll also be doing idle jobs as well."

"I know that, stupid, this isn't some vacation," the shorter blond stated harshly, a hand reaching up to play with his messy hair that shaped his face unevenly. "Though, I… I do want to explore France, some time. I don't get to go travelling often, so this is an opportunity for me."

"Don't worry, I'll show you around—"

"_You_ can stay home or whore around, or whatever you do! I don't want you accompanying me, I already have you for work," Arthur pouted, looking outside of the car door window once more. Laughter from Francis had sounded once more, the Englishman knowing that he was going to have the other come along with him in the end. Hopefully he'll prove useful and get around in French, or explain the tourist attractions to him.

The only sound that filled the air was the car engine, until the voiceless atmosphere was broken by Francis, "So… what do you do for fun?"

"Huh, what? What sort of question is that?"

"A question everyone asks when wanting to break the ice?"

"Oh, well, um… I play violin sometimes and I… well, I like tea, and…"

For the rest of the car ride home, Arthur and Francis had exchanged information between one another, unknowingly yet gradually getting to know each other a little bit better. Already, they could pick up little habits – like how Francis would often roll his wrist when explaining something, or how Arthur would readjust his scarf for no reason.

And it was that long car ride, that the chemistry between the two had shifted a little, and despite having a deep annoyance for the other, Arthur could find himself actually becoming friends with him.

Maybe this year won't be so bad.

Maybe he'll make unforgettable memories in this beautiful country.

Just… maybe. He'll have to wait and see.

* * *

**A/N: **This was roughly done one school afternoon with the occasional annoying behaviour from my wonderful friends. So, be sure to review (I love constructive criticisms! [Jokes, I hate them but they help me]) and follow. I'm feeling romantic/creative at the moment, so there may be quick updates.

Merci beaucoup!


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N****: I'd like to thank VelvetTiramisu for such a lovely review! It made me go all fangirly, and really inspired me work on this! To be honest, I was inspired by Long November to write this, so I'm glad you could see the comparison.**

**Anywho, here's the next chapter. ^^**

* * *

It was dark by the time the two had arrived at Francis' house, yet the lights of the city had illuminated each and every pathway so even old eyes could determine where to go. Arthur had fallen asleep during the car ride, and even when pulling into the drive way, Francis' didn't seem to accidentally wake the other.

"Hey, Arthur," Francis said, undoing his seat belt as he leant over to the male who was currently sleeping up against the door. "Reveille-toi—" he cut himself off just as Arthur stirred in his sleep and mumbled some inaudible words beneath his breath. Reaching for his bag that he had discarded by his feet earlier, Francis retrieved his Polaroid camera and took a photo of his sleeping companion. Taking the film, and shaking it a little before replacing both it and his camera, the Frenchman had told Arthur to wake up with a louder voice as he nudged him a couple of times.

"Mmh…," Arthur mumbled, just as Francis said, "We're here."

Groggily, the shorter blond sat up in his seat, his hands reaching for his face as he rubbed his eyes with the back of his knuckles for a moment. "Okay, shut up already," he groaned, arching his back in his seat as his arms reached upwards to stretch, soon stopped by the roof of the car, however.

Without another word, Arthur unclipped his belt and stepped out of the vehicle, Francis having doing the same. When he closed the car door, the other proceeded to retrieve the foreigner's luggage bag out from the back seat before locking the car and heading inside.

"Hey, I can carry my own things, you know!" Arthur yelled after the Frenchman, frowning to himself from being babied… plus, he wasn't exactly the brightest when just waking up.

He soon jogged after him, snatching the handle off of Francis just as they made it to the front door.

"Top floor is where my apartment complex is," the taller blond warned, his head bowing down a little as Arthur could practically smell the fragrance of the other… It was delicious. "And the elevator's broken, are you sure you still want to carry it?"

Arthur turned a little red as he realised he was just _smelling_ the other, which was totally unlike him to get so up into people. So, stepping back for some personal space between the two bodies, he nodded and replied with a sharp tone to his voice, "Yes, I'm not the queen of England, I'm just from there," he turned his gaze to the side, a cold breeze causing him to shiver as it had gotten the uncovered parts of his neck, "So stop treating me like one."

"Whatever," Francis replied with a smirk, patting the other's head – making out that he was the taller man although they were clearly the same height. It must have been the shoes he was wearing that made him _look_ taller. "Don't cry to me when you get tired half way, then."

For once, Arthur didn't grow defensive. With the tip of his nose and his cheeks a rose red from the cold air, he actually allowed a small smile to come upon his lips as his own hazel eyes made eye contact with blue gems. "I don't cry," he said, but Francis simply caressed his cheek before replying with, "_Everyone_ cries, Arthur."

With that, leaving the other blond behind in the soft daze of confusion, Francis entered the building as the heel of his shoes clicked along the cobblestone stairs that he made his way up. Arthur took a slower approach, entering the foyer of the apartment building and looking around.

It looked like a nice enough place – quite furnished, too. Perhaps Francis' apartment was the same; the French always did seem to excel in décor. But, despite that, Arthur wasn't concerned about any interior design, nor did his attention stay glued for long.

_Everyone cries, Arthur. _

That… was true; even the strongest and the most persistent cry, right? Arthur knew that all too well – usually when he hurt himself or watched a sad romance, although he didn't like to shed tears in the presence of others. That'd only ruin his reputation of being stubborn, mean, and not one to cry.

And, yet, Francis spoke as if he was one that was extremely familiar with such words – and not regarding too trivial matters like Arthur. He spoke as if he was the loneliest man in the world, and no matter how hard he tried, he was always misunderstood or left behind.

Closing his eyes, Arthur could feel his heart tighten, deciding to distract himself by actually making his way up the long spiral of stairs. His steps were slow and heavy, his luggage bag made clicking sounds on the cobblestone, and his hand slid gracefully along the smooth railing. Lactic acid soon filled his legs as he began to feel weak in the knees – making a mental note that he _really_ ought to work out some.

Thankfully, he had made it to the top without dying, although he felt like it.

"Thank… goodness…," he breathed, placing his hands on his knees as he took large, slow pants to catch his breath. If only he wasn't so stubborn, Francis could have taken his luggage instead. Though, one pro to this was that the exercise made him feel a _little_ warmer.

Standing tall once again after catching his breath, Arthur walked down the large pathway that was accompanied with dim lighting. It looked like a horror scene, and that was terrifying.

"Don't get lost before you even produce something," Francis' voice suddenly said, causing Arthur to jump in surprise with a loud gasp. Turning around quickly, he found the Frenchman standing there with a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other, whilst an apartment door that Arthur had passed was opened.

"Jesus-fucking-Christ, you scared me," Arthur said, feeling as if he was turning white. Francis simply replied with laughter, smiling that beautiful smile of his, before replying with, "Come inside, I put the heater on and I'm starting on dinner. Settle in while I set the table up—"

To Francis' surprise, he was cut off with kind words, "No, let me help. I'm not your guest, Francis, I'm your roommate. We do things together; I'll even help you… finish making tea."

"Tea…?" Francis asked, looking a little confused before shaking his head as if a light bulb had just appeared above his head. "Oh that's right, you're British. So, milk tea, right?"

"Oh, no, no! I meant tea as in dinner, not the beverage," Arthur corrected himself, his rosed cheeks growing a deeper cerise in colour as he couldn't help the laughter that forced its way out of his lungs. His insides were shaking, though. He felt completely nervous about everything right now.

"Do I look British to you?" the other asked, an amusing tease embedded in the webs of his voice. "Your colloquial language is foreign to me."

"I might just teach you some then," Arthur teased back, his lips curved into a fine smirk, before he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Just, hurry up and get inside, I'm _freezing._"

"I'd imagine."

With that, the two made their way inside, with Arthur closing the door behind him, before Francis disappeared into the kitchen that was currently filling the whole apartment complex with the sweet aroma of wine, steak, spices, and everything good, really. Green eyes peeked into the kitchen, staring at the other from behind for a moment.

He really did look so alone, yet his aura about him was… happy. Arthur could tell Francis wasn't a sad person; he just seemed like someone who didn't mind being alone. However, he _hated_ being lonely, yet that's exactly what he was: lonely.

Francis was a beautiful man though – even with his long, blond locks falling out of the red ribbon that tied his hair together, or the white V-neck shirt he wore coming loose from being tucked into those tight, faded and worn jeans of his. He didn't even have a clean shave, but that's what made him look so mature, Arthur guessed.

Frowning, the Englishman remembered his quarrel with Francis earlier, taking a mental note that no matter how mature he seemed, he was a fucking child.

"Francis, where am I staying?"

"Attendre, Arthur," Francis replied, telling the other to wait whilst he quickly finished up here. Arthur, not being one to cook, didn't know exactly what Francis was doing, but the Frenchman had paced around his kitchen whilst attending to something that was being cooked in the frypan that he was holding earlier. Arthur had then guessed he was adding herbs and spices.

Not a moment or two later, Francis moved to wash his hands beneath the sink before patting his hands dry upon his shirt. The thin, white fabric became see-through from the two damp spots, Arthur looking for a moment before casting his gaze upwards to the man approaching.

"I'll show you the bedroom," Francis said, Arthur following silently behind. The apartment complex wasn't extremely large – in fact, it seemed like the perfect size for someone living here alone – but it was decorated beautifully. If Arthur hadn't known the owner of this apartment, he would have guessed a woman lived here – with the countless flower plots, paintings upon the wall, filled bookshelves, fluffy cushions. Everything was so perfect, except for…

"Here. Désolé, there's only one bedroom, so you'll be sharing with me. If that bothers you, I'll sleep on the sofa."

…the bedroom.

Stepping inside and allowing his hazel eyes to wander to the room, Arthur almost cringed from how messy it was. There were lots of snippets from news articles, kept with the pictures, hanging up on the walls as if they were postures or reminders. The closest door was open uncaringly, whilst clothes hung over the chair that belonged to Francis' desk beside his bed. The desk was just as messy, with pens and coloured markers left out carelessly with an unfinished drawing. In short, the room looked like it was turned upside down – a stereotypical artist's workplace. The only tidy thing about it was Francis bed, that was actually made and looking extremely welcoming at the moment.

Suddenly, Arthur remembered he had arrived here with someone.

"Oh! No, no, Francis, I told you to stop treating me like some queen, remember?" he finally replied with an exasperated sigh, turning around to find Francis leaning against the door frame with his arms folded over his chest. "Just treat me like an old friend of yours, and don't annoy me… and occasionally cook delicious things."

"I'd prefer if you felt comfortable with your way of living, as you _will_ be here for quite a while," Francis then replied. "What is home to you?"

Arthur looked taken back, thinking for a moment whilst he took off his thick coat, soon then left in casual clothing that was comfortable enough for him. When he seated himself on the end of Francis' bed to take off his shoes and place them on his luggage bag he had discarded on the floor, he finally replied, "Home, to me… is feeling like you belong; whether it's with family or not, just not feeling out of place would mean home to me."

"Ah, so I'm allowed to baby you then," Francis teased, causing Arthur to frown at him.

"No! _Don't_ baby me! I'm comfortable enough, really, I don't mind sharing a bed with you. It's not like we're 14 year old kids who've yet to discover their sexuality, so sleep with me—" Arthur stopped speaking abruptly, fire running across his skin as the feeling of steam arising from his cheeks came to be. How he hated saying the wrong things most of the time. To make things worse, that stupid French laugh was filling the air, so Arthur suddenly told the other to shut up before getting on his feet once more. "You're gonna burn something if you stay here and annoy me too long! Let's just get this done and eat already!"

Francis was still laughing loudly when the other had shoved him out of the way and made his way to the kitchen. However, what made him stop was hearing the sound of Arthur squeal like a little girl before whispering curses to himself as if he were hoping Francis hadn't heard that.

"Arthur?" Francis called for him, peaking into the kitchen to find Arthur with his index finger in his mouth. "You burnt yourself. That won't help, run it under the tap water."

Although Francis had ordered the other to do that, he instead went over and grabbed his hand gently – pulling the burnt finger from Arthur's mouth, whilst Arthur was saying lame excuses and telling Francis he could handle himself, and turning the tap on to allow the cool liquid to sooth the red flesh.

The two stood in silence, Arthur staring at the other with hazel eyes that was filled with interest. However, said eyes casted downwards at his hand that was still being held by Francis, noting to himself that his hands were soft despite looking rough. Those hands really weren't made for bad actions; they felt as if they were made to produce art. Francis' mindset really was aligned with the structure of his body.

"How's it feel?"

"Better," Arthur's voice was small, slightly missing the other's warmth when Francis had moved to pick up where he had left off. "…merci."

"That's okay," Francis replied, looking up and smiling gently at Arthur. "If your finger is okay, come here and I'll show you how to do this properly _without_ burning yourself. You might learn a thing or two."

Arthur stared at his companion blankly, his insides feeling like they were shaking again, before he eventually smiled in response. _How he hated Francis._

"Sure."

* * *

It seemed as if the temperature had dropped overnight, and so Arthur was left cuddling the blanket to him tightly. Goosebumps littered his pale skin, despite wearing long pyjama pants and a plain black sweater with England's flag, captioned 'Made in England' on it. The thin parts of his flesh, mostly his elbows, knees, the tip of his nose and cheeks, were all a soft pink in colour as if he had just finished running a race and was sweating profusely.

Lying in a foetal position, Arthur was practically having his knees up to his chest as he laid on his side, making the best of his body temperature whilst he was slipped into subconsciousness. Meanwhile, the man that had fallen asleep beside him hours later – after eating, showering and adding the collection of films he had taken of Arthur into an album of his – was already up so early in the morning. Whilst dressed for some story-chasing today, Francis tied his hair back in his usual red ribbon whilst standing at the desk that was seated in earlier, eyes glued on the alarm clock beside Arthur's head.

5:59am.

Silence.

6:00am.

A loud beeping sound erupted and sliced through the quietness of this morning, causing the one who was sleeping to shoot up in his spot with daze, blond locks shaping his head messier than usual and sleep crust at the inner corners of his eyes.

"Why's it so loud, Fr—Francis?!" Arthur half asked, half yelled, pressing many of the buttons on the alarm clock before Francis had come along and stopped it. "Oh my God, I can't right now."

"You went to bed earlier than me, yet you're awake later," Francis said slyly, his blue eyes narrowed down sharply at Arthur who was still half asleep. "So don't complain. You have 30 minutes to get ready before we're off, sunshine."

"Sunshine… _really?_" Arthur asked, running a hand through his hair as the blanket he was cuddling fell loosely around his waist. He moved to swing his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes sleepily, whilst Francis made his way to the kitchen where the smell of freshly grounded coffee beans came from. As Arthur took a few moments to wake up, something clicked inside.

"Wait, only half an hour?! Francis!" Arthur yelled, getting up from his spot and frantically running to the bathroom where he proceeded to undress, tripping over his feet most of the time as he attempted to stay balance… which wasn't working. "I can't get ready in half an hour! I haven't even eaten yet! You're all dressed already; you should have awoken me earlier you cheeky bastard! At _least _make me some coffee!"

In the kitchen, Francis chuckled, steam arising from the hot, freshly made coffee in a white, ceramic glass that he held in the palm of his hands. With his hips against the table, and his eyes casted outside where the sun shone in, he allowed his lips to curl into a smirk before holding the glass up to the folds of his lips, taking in a deep breath of the earthly beverage as the sounds of birds and… Arthur's yelling, alongside the running water of a shower, filled the air.

So early in the morning, and already his home was filled with such life. Francis could feel a warm, fuzzy feeling inside of him – not being from the coffee he was consuming – and it was such a foreign feeling. Despite cold temperatures, Arthur made him feel warm; made his _home_ feel warm.

"_You better have fucking made me coffee, or you'll feel my wrath today!"_

Arthur's voice practically echoed through the apartment, causing Francis' smile to widen, holding his glass up to his cheek that was warm to touch whilst another vacant cup of coffee sat beside him on the table.

"I did, Arthur!" he yelled back with amusement, voice quietening though. "I did…"

And it was then that Francis agreed with himself for once, that such an idle thing, even coffee, was best when shared.

* * *

**A/N: The actual story (of the journalism, etc.) doesn't start until the next chapter. I just wanted to write about how these two were when moving in and stuffs, so yeah! Thanks for reading. **

**Follow and review?**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Argh, I'd just love to thank everyone for the lovely reviews. It's people like you that really make me feel good about this story. ^^ Again, thank you SO much. I appreciate your support. c:**

**Anywho, now that's over, read on. :3**

* * *

Arthur's eyes narrowed; thick, signature eyebrows furrowing one time.

"Apologise!"

Stacking his and the other's plate on top of each other, Francis felt his stomach twisting that made him bend his torso over a little, speaking up with fits of laughter between each breath, "Okay! Okay! For the millionth time, I'm sorry!"

"You're unbelievable!" Arthur replied, fighting the urge of the smirk that _begged_ to mark his lips. "I can't believe you did that to me so early in the morning!"

"At least I made you coffee though, right?"

"…yes, but still! You could have just asked to eat out for breakfast."

"I had a feeling you weren't quite the morning person, so I didn't want to risk it."

"Again, you're unbelievable."

Francis replied with laughter, folding his right leg over his left, as the sweet aroma of coffee beans and freshly baked goods filled the small café he and Arthur were currently seated in. The morning sun shone ever so beautifully into the building, giving off certain balminess and allowing Arthur to reach for the sun rays to keep the tips of his fingers warm. His soft, fairly coloured skin radiated the light gently, Francis having to take note of how remarkable the sight was. He always has appreciated the human body – he never always saw nudity as sexual. Although, because he believed in such, there was many moments where he was accused of being a pervert – hence why Francis tends to keep his hobbies to himself. Maybe, hopefully, Arthur had the same point of view to him, and so Francis could really open up more.

"May I have a photo? I just thought you look really nice, with the sun on you and all," the Frenchman asked, causing Arthur to turn his attention from keeping his hands warm, to instead look up at the other. "I could add it to my portfolio."

Arthur smiled awkwardly, sitting upright, as his natural hazel eyes really began to glow an amazing abundance of emerald that looked almost fantasy-like.

"I-I'm not photogenic, let me take one of you instead—"

"_Non_, that's okay," Francis said quickly, cutting the other off to Arthur's surprise. Playing with the sleeves of his sweater and frowning greatly, a faint blush coursed over Arthur's cheeks as he pouted, soon replying with, "You know I don't like having photos taken of me."

Francis nodded, smiling. "I know," he replied, resting his elbow upon the table as he moved the empty plates to the side, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "Just this once and I won't ask you for another as long as we're together."

"You'll probably still take photos _without_ my consent, so it doesn't matter either way," Arthur sighed, smiling weakly. Francis hummed at the back of his throat, lips parting the slightest to speak, "That's true. But let's get one of you smiling."

"Bien," Arthur huffed, moving his hands to grab the edge of his seat, in between his legs. "Just this once, though. You're gonna have to owe me something in return."

Taking his Polaroid camera from his bag, Francis checked that there were blank films in there, before holding it up so he could peak through the lens. "Your wish is my command," he said, Arthur's face shifting into one that held surprise, just as the Frenchman had taken a photo.

"Woah! Hey! I wasn't ready!" Arthur yelled, gaining the attention of some of the other customers in the café alongside the two, as he sat up in his seat defensively, reaching for the film that was coming out of the camera. This time, Francis was too quick, and so he pulled the camera away and retrieved it for himself, shaking it a little so it could produce at a faster rate before looking at it himself.

"Doesn't matter, you look quite cute here," Francis said, smiling as he held the picture up so Arthur could see. "See?"

"Delete it—no, wait, Jesus, rip it up!" Arthur demanded, rosy cheeks from the mixture of cold air but warm sun, going a little deeper in colour. "Don't make me set fire to it when I get the chance!"

"I don't know, it's a little hard to rip," the other stated, even proving it, placing his camera down on the table to try to rip the film. "I don't use that cheap stuff you'll find online; this is very expensive, so the quality must be good, don't you agree?"

Francis looked up when he had asked that, flinching when the sound of a shutter had gone off, and he found Arthur laughing in triumph as he had the Polaroid camera in his possession. Sitting up to place his hand over the lens, grabbing a hold of the camera, the Frenchman retaliated by snatching it off of Arthur and quickly shoving it into his bag alongside the other film.

"Naughty," he said, his tone of voice sounding as if he were speaking to a pet or a mere child. With a sad sigh – to Arthur's surprise – Francis gathered his things, ready to stand up. "We should go, the drive to the magazine company I work at usually takes about 10 minutes, but traffic can be a pain in the ass – so I'd rather be safe than sorry."

Arthur felt as if he had done something to offend the other, and soon hated himself for it. It was either that Francis didn't want his expensive films wasted on playful shots, or…

"Come along, Arthur," Francis said once more, before leaving.

…or that he _really_ hated photos being taken of him. Why, though? Francis was gorgeous. Even the film that Arthur held in his hands; the amazing front on view of Francis hunching his shoulders the slightest, blue eyes peaking upwards as the sun captured his face, the blond hair that wasn't held back by a ribbon falling down the sides of his face mesmerizingly… even the little details – like his facial hair defining the strength of his jaw, or the pink lips that stood out against his creamy skin, or those thick eyelashes that made him look just a _tad_ feminine, but otherwise a total lady-killer.

Just staring at this picture of Francis looking right back at him, Arthur felt his insides twist. He hated the other for making him feel like this – as if he were _so_ dependent on him, or that his emotions were strung up for Francis to pull at any time he pleased, with either his words or his smile. Not once have Arthur ever believed that someone could gain a crush on someone they had just met, and yet he felt like this already. He guessed it was just psychical attraction, though – although being a blond himself, he did prefer blond hair and blue eyes, and that's exactly what Francis was.

Standing up with a smile, Arthur stuck the photo he had scored into the pocket of his jeans, wrapping his usual grey scarf around his neck once more.

He had just _hoped_ the other did swing the same way, or even both ways – he didn't care. It's just because Arthur had a feeling he would not only have an overwhelming amount of psychical attraction towards Francis, but he'd also get emotionally invested in him; and it's never good to like a straight man. The Frenchman was an interest person to begin with; and his mysterious personality only added on to it more.

Though, thinking like that, Arthur did feel that impending hatred.

"About time, what were you doing?" Francis asked after Arthur had regained his thoughts and made his way out of the café, to where the car was parked.

"Hey, at least I showed up," Arthur replied with just as much sass as the other, before entering the passenger seat as the other blond got into the driver's seat. Strapping himself in, hazel eyes turned to gaze at Francis gently, before thick eyebrows caused an idle expression to turn into an annoyed one. The car ride there, not a single word was exchanged between the two – the only sound was music, specifically from the French band, Noir Désir; old, but one of Francis' favourite.

* * *

Arthur's stomach began growling, and so he looked up from the desk he was assigned to for the year to check the time – where the hands didn't seem to move at all. And, so, he sighed heavily, hating his life as per usual. His office was like the one back in England – smelling of coffee, cluttered with books and paperwork, the sound of an occasional breakdown of a journalist overworked with stress. He shouldn't have expected that things would be any different.

With a heavy sigh of defeat, Arthur laid his head down on his desk, his wrist sore for writing up little things that his editor had given him to do. Francis was nowhere in sight, he seemed to have disappeared as soon as the Englishman had gotten to where he had to go, and that only made Arthur pout because he didn't feel so comfortable in a room full of strangers.

"Je suis désolé," a female voice apologised, causing Arthur to raise his head and stare blankly at his editor. Noting for the 100th time today, she was beautiful, and the way she dressed showed that she knew it, too. With a tight, pencil skirt framing her hips perfectly, a white dress shirt that was unbuttoned to show the gold necklace that was around her neck, her bulging cleavage gaining anyways attention, and black heels that made her look so tall and dominant. Any man preferring someone as sexy as her would go _crazy_.

Snapping from his thoughts, Arthur shook his head, before straightening his papers.

"No, no, that's okay," he replied, placing the papers flat upon his desk, before taking the pen that was rested upon his ear and discarding it into the stationery container. "Don't apologise at all, you're the boss here, ma'am."

"Oui, that may be true, but it's rare to have someone as valuable as you working for me, I'm honoured," she said, earning a weird look from Arthur, before he eventually accepted the flattery with a small smile and thanks.

Before Arthur could get back to what he was doing – writing, although mostly whining about how hungry and bored he was – the editor turned, and Francis had entered the scene between the two. He felt a slight stab in his heart when his emerald eyes witnessed Francis grazing his hand upon their boss's hips, before both had greeted each other with a kiss on each cheek. That's when Arthur decided that these two were practically perfect for each other – they were both stunningly gorgeous. He began to feel silly and hate himself for ever thinking about such shameless things about Francis; getting his hopes up was one way to completely hurt himself. Of course the Frenchman was interested in women.

"I'd hate to have you in the office all day, you deserve something more exciting," the editor said, after she and Francis had broken apart. "So, you and Francis have a little job for me."

She moved her hand in a come-hither motion, red painted fingernails shining in the light, before departing and making her way to her own office. Francis, not having seen Arthur for the whole day, held his arms out for an affectionate greet when he was rejected. The Englishman had simply avoided eye contact – not because he was irritated with Francis, but rather with himself – and moved pass him to follow the clicking of the editor's high heels.

Turning his head to follow where Arthur was going, Francis stayed behind a little, confusion washing over his thoughts. If it was denial, then it was, and so he thought that the other was simply not used to greeting like the French, hence why Francis was overlooked. With that figured out for himself, he soon caught up to Arthur, to the other blond's slight dismay. Don't get him wrong, though, Arthur didn't despise Francis' companionship – in fact, he enjoyed it half of the time – he was just… awkward, _especially_ after shamelessly wanting Francis to have an interest for guys, and possibly _him._

"Arthur, I have one thing to ask you before assigning you with Francis," the editor said when both males had entered her office. She was perched up on her desk; back facing them with her legs crossed over each other as he reached into the drawers and retrieved papers. "What sort of work have you done before?"

Arthur was a little taken back on that question; he's never been asked it before. However, because he was, he was guessing what the two was about to do may be a little _illegal_.

"Well, interviews, reports on the scene, stuff like that," Arthur replied, earning a little scoff from Francis – which made the other blond glare at him – before the editor had turned her head to smile gently at him.

She replied, "Have you ever trespassed or broken into places?"

This time, it was Arthur to smile smugly.

"There's no need to trespass or break into places when you can always persuade your way in, mademoiselle," he said with earnest, sounding as if he was innocent of such deeds. Upon feeling Francis' shoulder brush against his, however, he broke from his state of being that 'super cool' journalist that never got caught, to shuffle away a little – unnoticeably. "Uh—well, why do you ask?"

His boss had removed herself from her desk, going over to both boys, before handing Arthur the papers she had gotten and read over one last time. As hazel eyes scanned over them, the Englishman had taken a mental note for himself that these were mostly rumours and hot topics about a certain celebrity that was staying in France for the time being. This was different for him – he usually didn't report on celebrities, but rather crimes and major events. So, maybe this'll be a journey for him.

"An aristocrat who's here for his performance in a couple of days," the editor soon said, gaining Arthur's soft gaze once more.

"It'd be best to fish anything we can out of him, before his performance," Francis added on, smiling sheepishly. "But not have the report on him published until after; we don't want to soil his riches."

"Yes that'd be… not good," Arthur than mumbled, trying to look confident in sneaking up on celebrities. He _knew_ security would be much harder than ducking beneath some police tape – Francis had better know what he was doing. "Merci, I think we'll be going then. I'll have the reports stacked up on your desk by this Saturday."

"I'll see through with that, have fun," the editor replied, before shooing them out of her room. Once they had exited, the boys exchanged eye contact – Francis smiling brightly whilst Arthur looked away nervously. With a frown, the Frenchman soon grabbed a hold of the other's wrist, forcing eye contact out of him.

"Is everything okay, Arthur?" he asked, Arthur retaliating by pressing himself up against the wall with large, emerald eyes peeking back at the other.

"Oui," he eventually replied, placing a hand over his stomach. "I'm just hungry, and… nervous, I guess. Excited, maybe? I don't know… _please let go._"

With a curl of his lip, Francis obeyed, and placed his hands in his pockets after readjusting the strap of his bag that was slung carelessly over his left shoulder.

"Well alright," he mumbled, looking obviously annoyed for knowing that he hadn't retrieved the truthful answer. "You don't have to hide your feelings away from me. Like you said, we're roommates, so we're in this together."

"Don't speak so cliché, what are you… an American film actress?" Arthur replied, lightening up the mood when the both had laughed gently. However, he soon put on a smile, looking at the other man with a gentle gaze. "Everything's okay, Francis, I promise. Let's just focus on our job; we can speak of such personal things when we're off hour."

Francis rolled his eyes, smirking a little.

"Fine, don't try to act so professional," he replied. Arthur frowned, and softly punched him in the shoulder before yelling, "I _am_ professional!"

"Alright, alright! But so am I, so _you_ can't treat me like a kid!"

And that's how the two kept on going for the next 10-20 minutes or so, bickering over little things about each other, and simply speaking as if they were trying to gain authority over each other. Eventually, after coming to silent terms that they were equal – and after many laughs and playful punches – Arthur and Francis had regained focus on what they were to do, and so they made their way out of the building and to Francis' car once more.

Francis looked over to Arthur, sitting comfortably in the passenger seat with the papers in his hand, before asking, "Where to?"

Mumbling, Arthur pointed to a spot, having Francis lean over to read, as he replied, "Here. I don't know where that is, or how to pronounce that."

"Oh, that's on the outskirts of the city, which would make sense…," Francis observed, his husky voice like music to Arthur's ears, but also a painful, awkward reminder. "Celebrities staying in the middle of a city isn't always a good choice."

"So, you'll be taking pictures, I'll be taking notes?" Arthur than asked; double-checking. Francis nodded in response, the two locking eye contact for a while with a smile on their faces, before Arthur eventually shamed his way out of that position by blushing a faint shade of pink and looking the other way. "Let's get going, then. We don't even know where he _is._"

"True, but we'll find him," Francis said, with a voice like he had done this multiple times before, as he put his vehicle into drive. "We always find them…"

Arthur, with a soft sigh, kept his gaze on Francis whilst Francis kept his gaze on where he was going. The Englishman had just _wished_ he'd be able to go through the rest of this afternoon – running on an empty stomach – without getting super awkward with Francis or anything. He reminded himself to just… _focus on his job._

He was sure that he'd be fine.

Yeah, he'd be fine.


	4. Chapter 4

It was cold, yet the AC wasn't on. It was as if the cool, afternoon air from outside seeped its way through the small cracks and openings of Francis' car, and made its way inside where it then ventured forth to crawl beneath Arthur's clothing and along his skin that was already riddled with goose bumps. It was cold, yet he wore warm clothes.

"It's cold," Francis noted, causing his companion to shift hazel eyes from staring up at the overcast sky, to instead turn to him. "I hate cold weather."

"Soon to be rainy weather, too, from what it looks like," Arthur added on with a defeated sigh, the papers he had before now tucked away neatly inside of the other's shoulder-strap bag. "Do you have an umbrella?"

Francis shook his head, "Nope."

"That's not good."

"Good observation."

Arthur's stomach twisted in slight annoyance from the other's sarcastic teasing, so he bit his lip, pulling at the piece of dry skin that was peeling due to the cold weather before casting his gaze outside once more.

"_Putain_, I hate the cold," Francis then said once more.

"Yeah, you've already said that."

"I know, but it feels good to just say it," the long-haired blond clarified, shrugging his shoulders in a sort of 'bored' manner. "It's like letting off steam."

"I think you should keep it; might keep you warm," Arthur joked, both males cracking a gentle smile with an 'hmph' from Francis. Blue eyes made eye contact with green ones at a red light, before a musky voice broke the silence, "I think I'm far too hot for that, though."

The Englishman scoffed in a 'oh really?' sort of way, as Francis smiled his smug, irresistibly sexy smile, nibbling on his bottom lip almost unnoticeably.

"You wouldn't be so cold then," Arthur replied in a haughty manner as noticed the widened smirk that the other currently had, knowing that he was one to tease and enjoy it. Usually, Arthur himself would completely resent any silly little games like that, but he enjoyed it with Francis – simply because it seemed like Francis' nature to tease, so when someone as bland as he teased back, it spiced things up a little.

Shaking his head, Arthur cleared those thoughts from his head. He didn't know; he was just making up excuses for being out of character. Different changes in temperature and weather did things to him. Plus, he was still _so_ hungry. Francis definitely owed him.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked when Francis suddenly stopped the vehicle, parking at the side of the street in what seemed like a peaceful neighbourhood – not a place where a celebrity would stay. "Is this even the place?"

"Nope," Francis said, unclipping his belt after turning off the car and exiting. Arthur quickly did the same, readjusting his scarf and petting the crinkles out of his coat as the other strapped his bag on neatly. "It's a few more blocks ahead, so we're walking rest of the way. Come on."

Arthur hadn't noticed that Francis was wearing gloves – he must've put them on when he got out from the car. It was brown leather, hugging his slender hands almost perfectly, like a second skin. With his freezing finger tips, the Englishman wanted nothing more than to just sneak his hands in there to hold Francis' instead – so he envied those gloves.

Having to clear the thoughts from his mind once more, Arthur quickly caught up to Francis, resting with sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"Geez, it's colder out here, why couldn't we have just driven rest of the way?" Arthur whined, his cheeks a deep pink in colour. When Francis had laid his blue eyes on the other, he took a mental note to himself that if Arthur were to wear light makeup and a wig, he'd look perfectly like a woman. Having accidentally peeked on him when he was in the shower, seeing as the bathroom lock is broken and Francis had to retrieve some headache pills, he saw the glimpse of smooth pale skin, the silhouette of his slim frame, and the round of his plump ass… well, of course, before Arthur had yelled in protest and shut the shower curtain fully.

Seeing as Arthur _is_ a thin male, he'd have to wear fake boobs to really pull off the sexy female look. His baby face was the main feature, though; Francis just had an urge to play with his cheeks like a grandmother would do to a child.

"Are you going to answer my question or just stare at me like a pervert?" Arthur then asked, his eyes narrowed in a 'get away from me' sort of way, Francis having to blink a few times before shaking his head and laughing in dismissal, as if nothing had happened just then.

"Well! Well, you see," he cleared his throat, moving some loose, blond locks out of his face. "We're in undercover mode now, like spies!"

"Like… spies…?"

Francis nodded, smiling cheerfully, "Exactly!"

Silence.

And more silence.

Arthur, in the meanwhile, kept his pace up with Francis as his facial expression shifted to obtain one of disbelief and confusion.

"Like… spies?" he asked again, clarifying.

"Yes, like spies," Francis then said, clearly. "What do you expect to happen: the aristocrat to just come out here and greet us inside for a cup of tea and a few crumpets?"

"Hey! Is that some bloody English joke?!"

The Frenchman overlooked Arthur's outburst, "Because _I_ don't. Celebrities aren't so easy around fans, let alone paparazzi."

Arthur scoffed, before replying with, "Oh? So we just trespass and risk getting caught and paying fines?"

"Well, yes, why'd you think the editor asked you those questions earlier?"

"I just thought it'd be wiser to avoid the risk and go with the alternative first."

"That's boring, stop being boring, you're English, right?" Francis asked, looking at Arthur for a bit as the English man mumbled, "What now…?" beneath his breath, before continuing on with, "Be a little more like Sherlock and do some detective work or something, I don't know,"

Arthur stopped in his tracks, frowning at his 'partner', before yelling with annoyance, "Like fucking trespassing?! Just because I'm British does _not_ mean I equate to Sherlock fucking Holmes!"

Francis also stopped, sighing heavily in annoyance as he placed a hand upon his hip that was cocked a little to the side, flashing off what would be described as 'sass'.

"I don't know how you do things back in England, but you're _my_ assistant, so we go by _my_ rules," the Frenchman said sternly, his lips in a fine line as his wonderfully shaped eyebrows creased downwards in challenge. "That means, we're breaking in and digging up any dirt we can get on this guy: drugs, prostitution, a secret romance, whatever!"

"That's invasion of privacy though, Francis, we _can't_ do that!" Arthur replied, feeling the urge to cry as well as yell with all anger, but keeping himself suppressed.

"No, we _can_ do that, I've done it many times before, why else do you think I'm one of the editor's favourite journalists, huh?"

"Oh! I don't know? Maybe because you two are fucking every night! I couldn't give a shit!"

"Fucking? You think we're having sex? What makes you think that?"

"Have you _seen_ her, Francis? She's gorgeous, and… so are you. You two are practically magnets; it'd be going against every rule in the book to not be having sex."

Francis stayed silent for a moment, Arthur's eyes shifted downwards towards the cement, before the Frenchman eventually laughed in appreciation.

"Arthur, _no! _We're not having sex, she's gay," he said, causing the other to look up at him with wide, curious eyes. "She has a girlfriend; I've had dinner with the both of them a couple of times when I was dating her _broth…_," Francis paused for a moment, an uneasy feeling obviously going through him, "_er_… brother. It was sort of awkward, seeing as my boyfriend's _sister_ was my boss, but she didn't take it so bad when we broke up, fortunately. It was sort of a mutual thing, so I don't see why she would have gone off anyways."

Arthur was speechless, and he could practically feel the heat rushing through him – all from a mixture of complete embarrassment from mistaking the two's relationship, a shift in chemistry with the other as he literally began to feel more attracted, and also the fact that he was almost on the urge from breaking down in tears.

"Oh, and before you ask, I'm _not_ gay, but I am queer," Francis continued. "I identify as pansexual, meaning I don't see people as a gender, I see people as people. You can be female, male, trans, whatever, I don't care. If I like you, I like you."

"Yeah, idiot, I know what pansexuality is," Arthur finally spoke up, pulling at his scarf a little to release the build-up of hot air caught at his neck. "My brother is pan; he's dating a queer Japanese man he met a few years ago at a frat party. They make a good couple, and unlike Alfred, he has good taste in food… none of that fast food shit."

Francis was silent, feeling much taller as he seemed to be looking down at Arthur this whole time, seeing as the other blond kept on having his head down in what seemed like submission. Although, Arthur definitely wasn't one to just bend over and accept it, so it was obviously from embarrassment to hide his face away like such.

"What about you?"

"What about me…?"

There was silence for a moment, before Francis continued, "I know it's rude to ask of this, but what's your orientation?"

"Yes, it _is_ very rude," Arthur said defensively, feeling as if there was a sharp rock ledged in his throat. _He almost couldn't breathe. _"I… I'm gay, Francis. I came out only a year ago, so it still feels weird for me to say out so loud."

"I would have never guessed, you seem like a real lady killer," Francis replied, smiling gently. "Then again, as women say, 'the hot ones are always gay.'"

"Did you just call me hot?"

"Maybe, is there a problem?"

Arthur paused, lifting his head once more to stare at the other, thick eyebrows creasing a little as he shook his head. "No, but let's get back on track, we totally wandered off!"

And with that, the Englishman half ran away from his problems as he began walking along the street once more, forcing himself to take deep breaths and to cool off. He was a complete mess right now.

Having caught up, Francis sighed gently, reaching into his bag and handing Arthur his notebook and pen. The other took it, opening it for a moment only to find the first page scribbled with scenery and flowers, before closing it once more and holding it to his chest gently.

"What's this for?" Arthur asked, the tip of his nose and cheeks feeling much cooler now that he gave the hot air on opportunity to escape from his body.

"Well, since you and I cannot make an agreement, I thought you can approach him directly and ask for an interview. If he says yes, well then, you're lucky," Francis said, his gloved-finger tips pulling at the fine hairs of his jawline. "If he says no, then you can wait at the car for me. In the meanwhile, I'll be sneaking around and seeing what I can find."

"Jesus Christ Francis, I hope you get caught,"

"Hah, I won't! Even if I do, I'll just charm my way out of it," he replied, smirking cockily once more. Arthur opened his mouth once more to speak, but instead Francis continued, "The house is just up there, see the one with the gothic fence?"

Arthur nodded, "yep."

"Go on without me, I'll flank my way around, see you later, _mon cher_," Francis said, but before he could leave, he was stopped suddenly when the other grabbed him by the arm.

"Wait, Francis… good luck, find something worthwhile, okay? We need lots of evidence. And take pictures. And make sure you're not loud, and—"

Francis cut him off, smiling gently, "Stop worrying about me and worry about yourself. I'll be fine, I promise. If I'm not, I'll send you a text or give you a call. Make sure _you_ also get some information, he's the hot topic as of now, so we need articles on him to get the magazines selling and to get the company money and to get our pay checks. Okay?"

Arthur stared blankly, his rosed lips curving into a small smile, as the pit of his stomach brewed a certain warmth – definitely feeling more than appreciative for Francis' 'mature' side. Well, not exactly mature seeing as he is _still_ breaking in, but… focused, side? Serious side, maybe? Arthur was at a loss of words, so he just settled with mature side for now.

"Okay," he eventually replied, releasing Francis as the blond soon began to make his way down the other street, disappearing not long after.

Regaining his focus, Arthur tightened his grip on the notebook and began walking once more, with long strides for long legs. His mind felt so fried, like he had been sitting in the hot sun all day, somewhat equivalent to when he went to Australia for gap year – the summer days were _hell_, but he got to meet with his much younger brother once more. They looked nothing alike; the only features they shared were bushy, Kirkland eyebrows and green eyes that shone emerald in certain light. Otherwise, Arthur had choppy blond hair whilst his brother had this dark, smooth hair that was swept back. He was small and skinny and the other was bigger in structure, with defined arms, strong calf muscles, a large chest and abs that made women _scream_. Arthur rarely smiled, oh but his little brother always smiled, and it was a cute, lazy boy smile, making it one of his main features. So, in the end, Arthur was particularly jealous of his little brother, simply because he had taken all the good Kirkland genes. He felt like the ugly duckling of the large sibling group – he wasn't dating someone, he didn't have women chasing him, no one stole looks from him…

His mind suddenly turned to Francis, though. Multiple times he's complimented Arthur's looks already, from when they first met, and to just now when the Frenchman had implied he thought the other was hot. The simple recollection of that fried Arthur's mind even more, he felt like a live wire, or an oven that's been left on for too long. He wouldn't have been surprised if he blew up suddenly and just disappeared from earth. _How can __**one**__ man make Arthur Kirkland so crazy?_

"Bastard," he cursed beneath his breath, obviously addressing Francis, as he finally approached the large house that his partner had pointed out earlier. It was gorgeous. With gothic black fences, a colossal gate to accompany it, well-tended gardens and cute, fashionable garden statues… it definitely seemed like a place deemed worthy only for the rich and famous.

"Hello—Ah, bonjour?" Arthur called out, having no one answer him. He said 'bonjour' once more, before he got closer to the gate, running his fingers over the cold steel. Only hesitating for a moment, the blond pushed opened the gate – closing it behind him, of course – and made his way up to the porch, to the front door.

"Bonjour, est quelqu'un à la?" Arthur asked, receiving no answer yet again. With a dismantled growl, he knocked a few times on the door, to his surprise – being opened by a rather shocked look.

"A-Ah, désolé—"

"Roderich Edelstein?"

The other man stared blankly for a moment, eyes blinking a few times, before his whole aura had shifted and he pushed his glasses back up his nose.

"What do you want?" he asked, an obvious thick, Austrian accent rolling off of his tongue with each word. Arthur wouldn't have guessed this celebrity would be a foreigner… then again, the editor did say he was staying in France for the time being. The blond soon began to wonder what sort of music he played; he didn't hear much of Roderich. Maybe it's a French thing to like this guy.

"O-Oh! I'm Arthur Kirkland, I'm employed with the_ Le Couer _magazine company in town, and I was wondering if I may come inside to ask you a few questions of your music career and perhaps a little of your personal life, if you're willing to give, for the satisfaction of your fans? I want you to be in our feature article for this month's issue, and I'm sure your French fans would be more than grateful."

Arthur died on the inside; how he sounded like such a kiss ass. But he was usually like this on the job – always respectful of others. He had to be, otherwise no one would oblige – a golden tongue means golden work.

Roderich paused for a moment, his elegant, pale face shining brightly from the overcast sky. His dark hair had only brought out his strange-coloured eyes, and his glasses gleamed almost captivatedly. "Sure," he replied, widening the door and moving to the side so Arthur could step inside.

"Thank you," Arthur said with a gentle tone, the door shutting close behind him. When Roderich had passed him, he followed, his eyes scanning the area. He knew this wasn't Roderich's home, but he soon began to wonder who it belonged to then. The portraits of the owners, as Arthur guessed, looked nothing like Roderich – the Austrian had dark features and a sort of slim face, whilst the owners were blond and faces were a little more round. Maybe they were distant relatives, or just close friends.

"Just in here, please don't make a mess or touch anything," Roderich said, leading Arthur into quite a furnished room – with two expensive looking chairs facing each other with a coffee table in the middle. The walls were papered with an elegant design of intricate patterns, which was soon then embellished with expensive-looking paintings. Although this was a gorgeous room, the blond had guessed this was the room for meetings; so he was sure the other rooms would be unbelievably even _more _beautiful. In the end, he envied Francis for proceeding to sneak about in the manor. "I'm only here temporarily, so I'd like to keep things as they are."

"Don't worry, I won't do anything I'm not allowed to do without your permission," Arthur reassured with a warm smile, sitting opposite Roderich. He was silent, and the air between the two got thick with awkwardness. So, Roderich spoke up, "Weren't you going to ask me questions? Isn't this an interview?"

"Oh, my apologies!" Arthur quickly said, blushing a little from making an idiot out of himself, before resting his notebook against his thigh where he tapped the pen at. He was still in such a daze thanks to Francis _fucking_ Bonnefoy. But, he eventually found his words. "Usually fans like to get to know their idols on a personal level, Roderich, so I'm going to ask you a few things, which you can skip if you want. Firstly…"

* * *

Francis could hear the faint sounds of two voices conversing – well, a little less like conversing and more like interrogating – so he knew that the celebrity had accepted Arthur's intentions for an interview. With that in check, and Roderich Edelstein… or was it Eberhardt…? Edelson, maybe…?

The blond shook his head, and decided that it wasn't important what his last name was as of now – he wasn't very good with German words anyways, even though his friend, Gilbert Beilschmidt, had urged him to learn the language – but with Roderich now distracted with Arthur, Francis would just have to avoid the two and make his way through the manor and dig up any dirt he can find – simple and easy.

Gluing that into his mind, Francis continued pacing his way around the large manor, looking for a window that had been left opened. Unfortunately for him, all of them were closed with the curtains drawn, except for the one that the two voices were coming from. Francis _would_ have just pick locked the back door, but he didn't have his things with him seeing as he didn't think the editor was assigning he and Arthur something already, so that was a no-go. It looks like he'd have to climb into the room that the two are using, so this shall be a fun game for him.

Readjusting the strap on his bag for a moment, so it rested more firmly and comfortably, Francis grabbed onto the drainage pipe and began levering himself up on the small indentations from the side of the house – usually uneven bricks that were pushed out a little, or pushed in, for design purposes. It was quite different, so it was pretty, but also useful – Francis didn't have to get his hands so dirty. Though, climbing up was a pain in the arse a little, seeing as the black jeans he wore were too tight to move around in. _Putain. _

"Of course, piano is the most beautiful instrument there ever is! So, I'd advise all aspiring "musicians" to drop that ugly electric guitars of theirs and instead seat themselves in front of a grand piano. Classic is real music, none of that punk stuff. Punk is dead, anyways," Roderich ranted on, his voice gradually getting louder to Francis the higher he got. It wasn't that high, anyways, seeing as it was on the first floor… but, it was still kind of high. Lucky Francis got into parkour – a French-made sport that requires running and leaping over objects – when he was young, because it has proved him useful many times in his journalism career.

But that didn't matter to him at the moment anyways; he _almost_ couldn't hold back the laughter that was itching at his throat. _Punk is dead? _That's no good; Arthur was really into punk in his teen's years. Almost hard to believe, but after the Englishman had showed Francis pictures of the concerts he went to and the rebellious acts he got up to, he couldn't help _but_ believe. Everyone has their phases.

"F-Funny, some… _people_ out there, would say punk isn't dead, so what makes you say that?" Arthur replied, an obvious strain in his voice. He wasn't very good at keeping back his anger, as Francis had found out the hard way, so he wondered just how long he'd last before lashing out. If there was tension, then he had less time to get in unnoticed.

The two continued to converse, as Francis finally reached up and held onto the window sill. With tight fingers grabbing onto the varnished wood with all strength, the Frenchman hauled himself up so his head could peep into view. Arthur's gaze immediately went from Roderich to him - a facial expression with slightly creased eyebrows, wide eyes, and lips curved downwards. A facial expression that spoke, 'what are you doing?!' Luckily, Roderich had his back towards Francis, so the long-haired blond simply winked, before lifting up the digital camera that was hung around his neck – snapping a picture of the two to Arthur's dismay. The pure look of bloodlust crossed the Englishman's features, but he distracted himself from looking too uncomfortable by writing down what Roderich was going on about.

"Well, it's… a _nice day _outside, isn't it? I mean, _just look at the sky!_" Arthur said, emphasising his words, having Roderich lean back in his seat before replying with a confused tone, "Uh… excuse me?"

"_The sky_, the sky, do you see how overcast _the sky_ is? _Look at it¸_do you think it'll be like this for your performance?" The Englishman than continued on, cursing beneath his breath as his hazel eyes stayed locked onto Francis, like what a bird does to its prey. In the meanwhile, Francis was motioning his hand to get across to the other to _stop_ before Roderich does turn and look, but either way, he didn't take it to heart. It was obvious that he was dying, in a good way, because his cheeks were flushed a soft pink colour as tears welled at his eyes from the amount of amusement that he felt on the inside. He wanted nothing more than to just laugh his lungs out.

"Uh, well…," Roderich murmured, Francis making a quiet snort sound from the laughter that almost slipped, before quickly ducking his head and having his hands hold him up, feet planted firmly on a single brick that's protruding outwards. "It is quite overcast, but it is also getting late, so maybe that's why it's so dark. It doesn't matter either way if it rains on the day of my performance; it'll be indoors in the warmth."

Before Arthur could say anything else, Francis heard the screeching of chair legs against the wooden floor, followed by the Austrian's voice once more, "I was making myself tea before you came, so I'll bring the pot in and we can have tea together, and then continue with the interview. Oh, wait, you're… from England, right? Your accent…"

"Yes, born and bred there."

"So you put milk in your tea?"

"Oh, yes, I couldn't imagine it any way else."

"I'll bring some milk then also."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

Footsteps, the sound of the door shutting, then silence. Francis continued to dangle for a moment, before he poked his head up once more and found Arthur standing there with a certain fire behind his eyes.

"I could just push you off this ledge right now," he threatened, although he wasn't completely angry, because he had this slight curve of the corners of his mouth – it was faint, but Francis could see it, and he learnt that Arthur would do that when he was being challenging.

"I probably won't fall to my death, but that'll hurt…," Francis replied, looking down to find a land of green, although directly beneath him was a rose bush – with thorns. "I don't like getting hurt, it hurts."

"Really? I would have never guessed, frog," Arthur said sarcastically, causing the other to laugh, before questioning, "Frog? What's with such the name?"

"You're French, maybe?"

"Oh! So it's a French joke I see, getting back at me for Sherlock Holmes?"

"That and that stupid tea and crumpets comment!"

Francis laughed, eyes closing with a wide grin on his face. His eyelashes looked damp, as if he was crying, and the cheeks had gotten a little deeper in colour. He was so… good-looking, it wasn't fair. Arthur yearned to be as pretty as him, and yet at the same time, he yearned to have someone as pretty as him.

"You idiot, what are you doing climbing like a bloody wanker anyways?" Arthur asked, sounding a little surprised, as if he wasn't so shocked that Francis would do something as outrageous as this. "I'm in the middle of an interview here!"

"Well then, you might want to let me quickly climb in and do my portion of today's work, while you two and keep going at with 'punk is dead' and that classical music is going to be hot in the upcoming generations."

"Hey, fuck you, punk isn't dead," the Englishman cursed, stepping back a little and holding out his hands for assistance. "And although I do agree that classical music is great, it does _not_ beat punk. Punk is not dead."

"Sure," Francis said sarcastically, reaching over the ledge and grabbing onto Arthur's hand, before hauling himself up and swinging a leg over. Now seated, he continued to move his hands to instead firmly grasp the other by the shoulders, the Englishman not knowing what to do with his hands. However, he soon settled with holding Francis by the waist, whilst Francis finished off by swinging his other leg over and pulling some of his weight on top of Arthur.

"Jesus, you're heavy," Arthur mumbled, holding Francis tight and close, before the Frenchman had gained his footing and both stepped away a little. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Thanks," Francis said with a small nod, both males pausing for a moment as they simply stared at each other with heated cheeks and soft smiles. Eventually, they broke from the trance, however. "I—uh, I should get going before Mr Punk-is-dead comes back. Text me when you're done with the interview, so I know to get out if I'm still in here."

"Will do, now get lost," Arthur replied, shooing the other away playfully. Francis made his way across the room, his hand reaching for the handle before two knocks sounded at the door. Both males froze, before eventually the Englishman spoke up, "Coming!"

That's when Arthur had approached Francis, holding onto the door handle, before looking at his partner uncertainly. Francis nodded, giving him the 'go', before he opened the door and found Roderich with a tray and tea set.

"Thank you," Roderich said, moving his way in. He walked past Arthur, who replied with a, "it's okay," and proceeded to settle the tray down on the coffee table. In the meanwhile, with Roderich's back turned towards him, Francis slipped past the door and was able to escape the room before Arthur closed it quietly. _Too easy._ There's no way in hell Roderich will suspect something is going on.

Clapping his hands together quietly and rubbing them, Francis took a mental note that it's time to get to work. And, so he did. His dress shoes didn't make too much of a sound along the wooden floor boards, thankfully, and so he was able to get by quietly. Sometimes, the doors of rooms would creak loudly though, but that didn't seem to stir up too much attention. But, for the remainder of his time in here, Francis didn't knock anything down or even get caught. Instead, he was able to take notes down of certain things – like diary pages and memoirs, whilst he took pictures of what seemed like romantic gifts being sent to him. _A romance, it seemed._ Eventually, he received a text, and so Francis made his quiet escape – getting his knees dirty in the process, however, as he landed wrong. It didn't matter though, both males got what they needed, and now all they had to do was write.

* * *

The sound of a shutter ripped through the silence, and Francis smiled to himself as he lowered the lens of his Polaroid camera and received the film, shaking a little for it to process, before looking at it with admiration.

"Why do you take photos of everything? Doesn't it get boring?" Arthur asked, hunching his shoulders a little so his scarf hugged his neck more, and so he could feel more of the warmth his torso was radiating.

"Nope, never," Francis replied, showing Arthur the film. It was of a black cat, with large yellow eyes, seated comfortably in someone's pot plants. "And just to think, people think such beauty is bad luck."

It was a couple of hours after their little break-in/interview. Francis was still dirtied and Arthur was still going very pink in the face, but both males now had their stomachs full with warm food and warm drinks, and now they were simply walking the streets as the cold, night air continued its ongoing existence. Lights illuminated every single road and turn off, whether it is from the street light or from houses, from shops or from tall buildings… it was like orbs in darkness; golden, orange-yellow orbs in black, empty darkness. That's how Francis viewed it, anyways; he always got on a deeper level when it came to visual things. Arthur was more inclined to sound, like music or people's voices. That's what made them different, but also the same on many levels.

"Only when it crosses your path," Arthur corrected; his dried, rosy lips in a small smile. Francis nodded in response, his musky voice humming a little, before he shoved the film into his bag. To his delight, he was able to steal a few sneak shots of Arthur this evening – when he was eating, when he was dazing off into the distance, when he was ordering at the café they were at earlier… and although he did get scolded at each time, he got to keep the photos. Arthur was gradually getting used to it, even though he still resented it.

"Were you jealous, Arthur?"

"What?"

"Were you jealous?" Francis repeated, the two having made their way into a park, where they both made their camp and sat at the park bench – watching couples walk by peacefully, or children ride their bikes. The night was as lively as the day; it just held more mystery to it.

Arthur asked, "Jealous about what?"

"About the editor and I," the Frenchman then clarified, moving his arms to rest upon the back of the park bench, where people leant against. Arthur shuddered a little when he felt the presence of Francis' arm right behind his neck, and he naturally felt drawn to just lean a little to his left and wrap an arm around the other's torso, holding him close for warmth and for comfort. Of course, he wouldn't do that, they still were strangers in a way.

"No, why would you ask?" he eventually spoke up, a little too defensively for his liking, as he fondled with the sleeves of his coat somewhat nervously. With Francis leant back, and Arthur leaning forward, the Englishman could feel eyes on him from behind – and that freaked him out, simply because it was Francis… that someone, who he had just met, that was able to make him go _crazy. _

"If you weren't, you wouldn't have had that little outburst."

"What outburst?"

"About the editor and I having sex, stupid," Francis teased, causing Arthur to turn his head momentarily and glare daggers at him, before turning his attention back to playing with his sleeves. "You shouldn't have cared if you weren't _jeeealous._"

"Oh, quit it, why don't you," Arthur said sharply, his fingers tense and clenching into fists now rather than playing with the soft fabric of his sleeves. A soft breeze came by, and he shivered a little, before hugging himself to try and keep warm on such a cold night. "I have no filter when I'm angry, so I speak nonsense sometimes. It didn't mean anything. _Geez__…_"

To his surprise, he felt Francis' hand on his shoulder, all the heat from his body gathering at his cheeks. He didn't say anything or protest, he simply allowed himself to be drawn in by the other, and so he found himself leaning against Francis. Shifting a little to make _himself_ comfortable, Arthur latched onto the Frenchman's coat and held it tightly, a tense body from nerves, as he rested his head onto Francis' shoulder.

Just like he imagined, Francis was crazily warm – and comfortable – so this was heaven for Arthur… but also hell. His heart was racing too fast for him right now. _He was cuddling with Francis fucking Bonnefoy. _

"I don't know… you still seemed jealous," Francis murmured, flinching a little with an "ow!" when Arthur had pinched him in the side and told him to shut up.

"I told you it didn't mean anything, frog!" Arthur replied hastily, giving one more pinch as Francis laughed, flinching once more. It hurt, but it didn't hurt enough to cripple him. "So just drop it or I'll pinch you again!"

"Fine, fine, I'll drop it," Francis said reassuringly, wanting to comment something cockily, but suppressing the urge. Instead, his free hand reached into his pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes. Getting one, and putting the pack back in his pocket, he held it in between his teeth before lighting it – his other hand that was rested on Arthur's shoulder shielding the flame from any breeze. This caused the Englishman to be pressed up closer, so he hugged Francis more fully, growling a little from having an arm in his face. Soon, however, with a lit cigarette, Francis moved back in his initial position and blew the poison out, sighing in content. He stayed like that for a while, before holding the cigarette to Arthur's lips, where the other took his turn to have a drag.

The smoke was warm, and it captivated Arthur. He wasn't a daily smoker, and he guessed neither was Francis, but having a smoke was always so relaxing.

"Anyways, it's not like we're dating, so there's no reason for me to be jealous," Arthur suddenly said, contradicting himself as he brought he subject up once more. "So there you have it."

"Yet," Francis replied, voice low and mysterious.

"What?"

"Yet, I said yet."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to be mean?"

"You said we're not dating, and I said yet," Francis clarified, smiling as he took another draw, the smoke of the cigarette disappearing like a ghost into the air. "We're not dating… yet."

"Yet?" Arthur asked, sitting up as he looked back to lay his eyes upon Francis – his insides a mess, but otherwise his facial expression hard. "And just _what_ makes you think I'd _ever_ date you?"

Francis turned his blue eyes from the scenery that was laid out in front of the two, to simply turn to look at the green eyes peering at him. Curving his dried out lips into a small smirk, after irresistibly biting his bottom lip, Francis held the cigarette up to Arthur's mouth – the Englishman breathing in the addicting poison and leaning close to softly blow the smoke into his face, where Francis had taken in a deep breath one time.

Arthur smelt of deodorant and cigarettes – _yummy._

"It'd be going against every rule in the book to note date," Francis replied, somewhat quoting what Arthur had said earlier. The other blond had picked up on that, and he quickly shifted from his somewhat 'cool' mode, to instead frown at him defensively and punch him in the side.

"Dream on, frog," Arthur said harshly, getting up from his spot and walking back the way they had come. Francis soon followed after flicking the cigarette away, and the two continued to bicker and argue over little things – mainly involving dating, the editor, and so on and so forth – as they made their way back to where Francis had parked his car, proceeding to drive their way on home to clean up and get some rest. It was a big first day for Arthur, and he was completely exhausted, and while Francis slept peacefully in bed, he stayed up for a few hours to work on the article he's supposed to write – simply because he was a little uncomfortable crawling in bed beside him as of now. He knew he'd be awkward for the following days, too, especially at the office, but… Arthur reminded himself that he'd be okay.

His eyes swept over the sleeping Francis – loose, unkempt blond hair, pink lips parted the slightest, thick eyelashes touching his pale cheeks ever so softly. Eventually, he made his way in bed, the time being 3:14am. Moving himself to lie as close as possible as he could to Francis, Arthur hugged his arms to his chest, drawing his legs up one time. Closing his eyes, he tried to drift off to sleep, but he jerked almost too full energy when Francis had rolled over to spoon him, laying an arm lazily over him.

"Idiot, you're going to be tired all day…," Francis said sleepily, the fine hairs from his jaw poking Arthur in the back of his neck and shoulder. It sent shivers down his spine. "You… you need to get proper sleep… okay?"

"Whatever, go back to sleep," Arthur replied, shivering once more when he felt Francis move his hand from resting upon his waist to instead hold him by the flat of his stomach. Don't get him wrong, Arthur was a virgin, but he could feel Francis' crotch right up against his arse and he wanted to just push back against him. His body urged him to do so, but his mindset was in the right place as he told himself 'no'. He had self-control. Yet, he also wanted to turn around and punch Francis in the face for holding him so dearly when the two are just 'friends', but he didn't. Instead, he focused on getting some sleep.

He needed it, anyways.


	5. Chapter 5

It was a couple of days after their break-in/interview of Roderich Edelstein, nearing the end of the week. With quite the information both journalists had retrieved – Roderich's love for piano and his advice to aspiring musicians, from Arthur, and Roderich's secret love with a Hungarian woman named Elizabeta, from Francis – it had given Arthur a lot to work with, in his writing of the feature article. Francis didn't do so well in his field of work, so he mostly developed the pictures he had taken of love notes, trashing some and keeping others, as he worked on the beauty side of the article. He was good at that – fantastic, even.

At their workplace, Arthur was retrieving a few pieces of paper that had come fresh out of the printer, it being warm against his cold fingertips. This was his final copy, having gone through his drafts with the editor, fixed up a few things, reworded sentences… all until he saw this as okay-enough. He rarely liked praising his work, but both Francis and the editor have been admiring his writing skills as of late, even a few other journalists he had gotten to meet. But Arthur didn't see it as "amazing" – his work was as bland as his personality, although people have stated otherwise.

Sighing softly to break from his pointless train of thoughts, he called out softly as he straightened the papers, "Frog, come here."

Francis, in the meanwhile, was seated at his own desk that was in a cubicle just opposite of Arthur's. The place where Arthur was staying at the moment used to be occupied by an old friend of his, but she transferred from Paris to Nice. Although the two haven't seen each other in a couple or so years, they still keep in touch, which was very pleasing to the Frenchman. He never liked feeling lonely, so he tried to keep his friends for as long as possible, although it didn't last. Being alone was a deep fear for him, but no one else knew about that.

Getting up from his spot eventually, after saving his current design of the magazine page that was on Photoshop, he made his way across the small aisle between cubicles, to where Arthur was.

As the Frenchman arrived, he asked, "Quoi?" however, he wasn't received an answer just yet as he watched in silence. The other male soon made his way from the printer all the way over to where Francis stood.

"Take this is to the editor's office, please and thank you," Arthur demanded, shoving the few pieces of paper into Francis' grasp, before turning around coldly and seating himself once more. Francis narrowed his eyes at the other blond, holding Arthur's work against his chest gently as he leant his hip against the desk.

"Do it yourself, I'm not your errand boy," Francis replied, causing the Englishman to shift his hazel eyes from his computer screen, to instead make eye contact.

"Just do it," Arthur sighed weakly, looking quite tired from the bags beneath his eyes. Francis had guessed he hadn't been getting enough sleep like he was _supposed_ to. Many times Francis had lectured him about getting sleep, but such hassles fell upon deaf ears, obviously. "We have to get this done; this shit is due tomorrow because that's when the magazine issue will be ordered to print. And it's also Roderich Edelstein's concert then, and I, well… well, to be honest, I sorta want to go."

Blond eyebrows creased the slightest, as slight concern prodded at Francis' heart. He had begun to wonder if the other was okay. "It's a classical, you do realise there'll be no mosh pit, right?" He soon said, eventually laughing when the other had laughed in response, all before Arthur hid his face away in his hands.

"I know, I'm just… tired," he said quietly, his voice but a whisper, almost lost in the somewhat silent atmosphere. He was hunched over his desk, the point of his elbows deep red in colour from rubbing against the surface; against the mahogany. "Plus, we're not doing anything tomorrow, are we? I'm pretty sure we're free."

"We're free, Arthur," Francis said softly, eventually walking over to place a hand upon Arthur's shoulder. The Englishman, a little dazed and completely out of it, looked up with large, hazel eyes that were watering slightly due to excessive hours staring at a computer screen. "You need to look after yourself more, you're a mess."

Arthur frowned his famous frown, expecting to be given nice words instead of a rude comment. Then again, this was _Francis fucking Bonnefoy_; he shouldn't have expected something else.

"Thanks for the comfort, you're not helping," he replied sharply, Francis a little taken back from his misuse of words. He cursed himself for having such a golden tongue when flirting, but never when trying to comfort.

"I didn't mean it like that—"

"Sure, just go away, you're annoying me."

"_Arthur_," Francis stated firmly, grabbing the other by the chin to turn his head to make eye contact when he had turned away. "What I meant was: I'm concerned about your health. It's good to be committed to your job, but it's not healthy when it has an obvious effect on you – a negative one, too. You're done here, aren't you? I think you should go home early."

Arthur was silent. His insides stirred up. He felt like a hot mess. Francis was close, and although he was _used_ to that, he wasn't still used to it at all. His mind frayed and his body froze. He probably would have been okay and retaliating, if it weren't for that speech of his.

Praying to whatever god was up there, though, the Englishman eventually found his words, even if they weren't so stable.

"I'm okay, Francis," he replied, opening his mouth to say something else when he was cut off by the other male, "No you're not. How many times must I tell you? You don't have to hide anything from me. We're roommates; we're partners; we're _friends_, Arthur. Allow me to worry about you sometimes."

Arthur got up from his spot, almost tripping over his own feet when he had forcefully pulled away from Francis. The simple action caused him to bump into his own desk, shifting the wooden object against the wooden floor with a screech, as he leant against it weakly.

"I don't _need_ you worrying about me," Arthur replied just as sternly, attempting to sound serious. Though, the whole 'serious' effect probably would have been reduced significantly seeing as his cheeks were burning a hot rose colour. "Plus, I don't want to leave you here alone—"

"Before you came, Arthur, I _was_ alone," Francis intervened, folding his arms over his chest after placing the papers Arthur had printed earlier onto the surface of the desk. "I'm used to being alone, so not having you around doesn't bother me so much."

Arthur could have _sworn_ there was steam arising from his cheeks, so he looked down at the ground, cold fingers reaching up to touch his hot face gently.

"That's sort of like saying you don't need me."

"I don't _need_ you, but your presence is more than welcomed," Francis replied, smiling gently with a slight tilt to his head, the loose blond locks hanging so freely. "I'd prefer having company over being alone, just so you know, but keeping you here while you obviously need to rest is just plain selfish of me. I don't want to be selfish unless I know it doesn't have a negative effect on you."

Arthur didn't have anything to rebut against that argument – Francis was right, and he hated the fact, but he did indeed need to take a break. Hopefully he'll refuel over the weekend.

"I don't have a way home though," he said quietly, before a gentle laughter that was like music to his ears filled the atmosphere.

"That's okay, I'll drive you back," Francis offered, and, suddenly, Arthur began to feel guilty.

* * *

"I'm sorry…," Arthur mumbled – his usual scarf pulled up more so he could hide his face away whenever he decided he didn't want to look at Francis.

He was seated comfortably in the other's car, his legs pulled up so his feet was flat against where his bottom sat, as he watched the water drops run slowly down the cold glass of the window, like what tears did to cheeks when one sat in sorrowful silence.

"It's okay," Francis replied, pulling into the car park of the apartment building he, and now Arthur, lived in. During the car ride, he had noticed that the other male was sniffing the slightest, and even sneezed once or twice, so he guessed Arthur probably caught a cold – he _was_ red back at the office. That sort of pissed him off, though, the Englishman was almost hopeless.

Turning the vehicle off, and exiting, Francis walked towards the apartment building door, all before he was stopped by Arthur pulling on the sleeve of his long-sleeved sweater.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked with a slight frown. However, that frown deepened a little from embarrassment as he noticed how close the two were again. They were so close that whenever he took a breath through his nose, he could smell that familiar cologne that Francis used mixed with his natural body odour. He smelt… sweet, just like the first time these two stood here – after they had met. He always smelt so sweet, so alluring, so warm. He had such a peculiar yet wonderful smell to him that Arthur didn't think anyone else could equal.

"You caught a cold, idiot," Francis replied, poking the other male in the middle of the forehead before making his way into the building and up the long spiral of staircases, Arthur following closely behind with a slight sneer. "I'm going to make sure you're all good before I leave again."

"I'm not a kid, frog, you should probably go back," Arthur replied, the painful headache he had hammering at his forehead. He almost felt too weak to even argue, but arguing was in his nature, so he had to. "I can look after myself."

"_No_, you cannot, you've proved that enough already."

"I'm fine, didn't I say to stop treating me like the queen of England—"

"I'm not; I'm treating you like a human being!"

Francis' voice was loud… and angry, it had startled Arthur a little. The arguments they always had was less tense, ended up with laughter or a conclusion, and the atmosphere wasn't so scary. But Francis seemed legitimately pissed off. The Englishman's heart was caught in his throat that was tightened, and he could have sworn he felt the sweat drops roll down his back. He was so shocked that he didn't even realise they were standing outside of the apartment complex they lived in.

"Go inside, Arthur, and don't say another word," Francis then said, softly but with certain sternness.

Arthur would have stood his ground for being spoken like that to someone that was _equal _to him, but instead of causing more drama, and adding onto his headache, he simply hung his head and obeyed quietly. Francis followed behind, closing the door behind them quietly before turning on the lights, and making his way into the kitchen, the sounds of cupboards opening and closing soon after.

Arthur, in the meanwhile, kept his shoulders hunched as he played with his fingers – the apartment cold from lack of the use of the heater, but he felt hot inside like a volcano was about to erupt from the pit of his stomach, the lava shooting through his head… or something as such. He hated Francis at the moment. He assumed that the other must have been tired too, and yet here he is looking after Arthur. God, why does he even care?

"Arthur," Francis said softly, gaining his attention. In one hand, he held a glass of water, and in the other, he held what seemed like medicine for colds and headaches. However, he soon placed it down on one of the small tables that were beside the arch door leading into the kitchen – accompanying the home phone alongside a small jar of fake flowers that was already placed upon the surface. "You should be lying down, you need to rest, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," Arthur mumbled, wanting to tell the other to just leave him alone and go back to the office to finish what _he_ has to finish, but thought otherwise because of the argument that might spark up once more. "I'm sorry for being a hindrance—"

He was cut off when his own words were caught in his tongue, Francis having approached him and beginning to pull off his scarf, before unbuttoning his coat. Arthur, already hot and sweaty from the cold he had caught, grew redder in colour as naughty thoughts just ran through his mind. He could only imagine Francis doing this slowly, shirtless himself, with a slight blush across his cheeks and his hair let down – the light dimmed and the moon illuminating the room, with Arthur's own hands upon the other male's hips, leisurely pulling him closer before they brushed their lips against each other—

He shook his head free of those thoughts. Arthur _refused_ to turn himself on in the presence of Francis – the other male would probably tease him from sprouting a hard-on or just simply be creeped out, and he didn't want that!

"Turn around," Francis ordered gently after undoing the buttons, Arthur shouting a "yes!" on the inside as he obeyed. Now the other wasn't given the chance to see Arthur range from a different mixture of emotions – from shock, to being aroused, to shock once more, and then embarrassment.

Francis, pulling off Arthur's coat, folded it over his arm alongside his scarf before moving back to retrieve the glass of water and medicine once more. Arthur had assumed the other would tell him to lie down, so before he could, he went to the bedroom and removed himself of his shoes and socks and other little accessories – like his watch and a wristband that was in the colours of white, blue and red and was tied in a elegant looking bow; a gift Alfred had given him last year on Christmas – before crawling himself in bed and sitting up against the pillow.

Francis retrieved a pill from the small box, Arthur having to raise his head when it was placed against his lips. The Englishman shivered the slightest as more heat left his cheeks, but he eventually parted his lips the slightest and took the pill, before taking a sip from the glass of water that Francis had offered. After he was done, feeling quite refreshed and cool on the inside, he moved himself so he lay in bed comfortably, still feeling hot.

"Thanks," he mumbled, just as Francis had gathered the things he brought in here and was about to take back into the kitchen. "But you didn't have to—"

"You've said this a million times, Arthur, I know," Francis replied before the other could even finish his sentence. He quickly left for a moment, just to discard the glass into the sink and put the medicine away, before he came back and sat on the edge of the bed – still fully dressed in his own coat and scarf. "But I _chose_ to. I don't think you realise that I actually care about you, even if you're annoying as hell."

"I could say that same to you, frog," Arthur said, both males having laugh softly at the realisation that their care for each other, but also their hate, wasn't one-sided. However, after things quietened down, Arthur closed his eyes gently and sighed a sigh that was almost deemed inaudible. "I just feel bad for bothering you. You should be doing your job, not looking after me."

"It's okay, I'm almost done anyways," Francis replied with reassurance, blue eyes narrowed gently down at Arthur's sleepy yet red face. His hand flew to the other's forehead, taking his temperature, which caused green eyes to snap open in surprise. "You're burning up—"

"Hey! Don't touch me!"

"I'm just taking your temperature—"

"I'm vulnerable at the moment, go away!"

"…Are you okay, Arthur?"

"Of _course_ I'm not okay! I don't feel well and everything's so hot—" he broke off with a whine, eyes shut close tightly once more as he pushed the blanket off of him. Sweat had plastered the blond hairs to his forehead, and his hand gripped the sheets in a death grasp. "I don't like this at all."

"You did this to yourself, so stop whining, stupid," Francis replied, an amused smile upon his lips as he brought the blanket back up to Arthur's neck. "_You_ keep this covering yourself; it's good to feel hot – sweat out the sickness. Otherwise, you'll be too sick to even go to Roderich's concert."

"I really want to go, though," Arthur replied, shifting himself to lie on his side as he hugged the blanket, looking insanely comfortable except for the sweat that was dripping down the sides of his face and the red cheeks. "I'm going to get better, so we can go. Okay? Now go away and get your work done. I love you."

Francis was taken back with that last sentence. Usually it was always "I hate you" or "frog" not a term of endearment. Maybe it was because Arthur wasn't exactly himself at the moment. But that's what made him _hate_ the English language. In French, when one were to say "I love you" to a friend, it would be with different pronouns and verbs and whatever, then to a significant other. In English, you could say "I love you" to a friend, a lover, a family member, and it was really confusing to determine what type of love someone meant. Francis decided that Arthur mean it in a friend way, though, seeing as these two weren't lovers and neither were they related.

Still having his bag strapped on him, Francis retrieved his Polaroid camera and took a snapshot of the sleeping, or maybe just resting, Arthur. However, he assumed that Arthur was asleep because he didn't even react to the sound of the soft shutter. That didn't matter though, he got his picture. And, so, with that done, he put his Polaroid camera away and smiled contently down at his sleeping companion after pocketing the photo.

"I love you too," he eventually replied with friendliness, patting the other's head gently before standing up and making his way outside of the bedroom, closing the door behind him quietly. Before leaving, Francis had made a note of instructions telling Arthur how to turn on the TV and how to change the channels, just in case he woke up and wanted to watch something, and also told him where certain things were in the kitchen – sugar, tea bags, biscuits, etc. just in case he wanted to snack on something.

He placed the note on the table that was holding the home phone, knowing that Arthur would see this easily if he were to come out. Hesitating for a moment, but then smiling gently to himself, Francis also retrieved the film he had taken of Arthur and placed it with the note – laughing quietly at the cute look the other had. _He really was cute. _It made Francis feel weird, like there were worms in his heart that was making it feel so… unrestful, he guessed. He knew this was the beginning stages of a crush – he's had crushes before – but he soon then began to fear for his sanity, because he was never good with feeling romantically involved with someone. One night stands and casual sex was something Francis did more rather than being in a relationship, and yet such intimacy with people meant nothing to him and he just felt so alone. He gained nothing except for euphoria and a good fuck. But being in a relationship didn't mean just sex, it meant kisses and hugs and cuddles and dates and arguments and favours and gifts and showering together and travelling together and watching movies together and just… everything, together. Of course, there were times of doing things _not_ together, but he loved the thought of being together. Not with Arthur Kirkland exactly, but with someone. It made him miss those nights with his ex-boyfriend, because it was those nights that didn't feel so empty. And, yet, ever since Arthur moved in… nothing was so empty anymore. He's even in fact stopped bringing home girls and boys in a drunken manner – not only because he now lived with someone, but because he didn't feel the need for such company.

"Ahh, I'm a mess," he mumbled, hiding his face away in his hands for a moment, as the heat from his body gathered at his cheeks. He was _blushing_. Rarely did he blush, and yet here he was blushing over his stupid fantasies of dating someone he loved. He wondered if Arthur would ever feel the same way. Hopefully he did.

* * *

When Arthur had awoken, complete confusion washed over him. It took him a while to realise where he was – in Francis' bed. That's right, he was done with his work and caught a cold, so Francis took him home and made him lie down.

Sitting up in bed, the headache he previously had now gone; Arthur gathered his bearings and rubbed his eyes for a moment, before looking at the alarm clock that was on the bedside table. It was 6:32pm; he had been asleep for almost 3 whole hours.

Getting up from his spot and making his way into the bathroom, Arthur washed his face with cool, refreshing water before staring at his reflection. _He looked like shit. _With hair a mess and bags beneath his eyes, cheeks flaring a red colour and lips peeling with dry skin… It was as if he had turned into a zombie over the last few hours; he was almost too embarrassed to be seen by anyone.

Oh well, he was feeling better, thanks to Francis, mostly. He ought to thank the other when he comes home, which won't be for another hour or so. They finished at 6:30pm, but since they were always finishing up on something or stayed back to chat, they didn't get out until 7:00pm. And, then, it was a 20 minute drive back home, but both Arthur and Francis liked to stop at the café they passed every day and get a coffee, so they usually got home around 7:30pm. Thinking about it, both he and Francis did these things naturally, and that's when he realised just how alike they were despite being total opposites.

"But he's a frog," Arthur said, smiling at his reflection before turning around and leaving the bathroom, and then the bedroom, finally arriving into the living room. He noticed a piece of paper, and when he had seen his picture, he cringed on the inside and felt the need to strangle Francis. Picking up the film, he tried his best to rip it in half, but such material made it almost impossible.

"Fuck you, Francis," he cursed, continuing his attempt before finally sighing in defeat. He put the photo back where he had gotten it, before reading the note. At first, his face was blank with curiousity, but once he had finished reading he was smiling weakly. Francis really goes out of his way to make sure Arthur was comfortable, didn't he? But Arthur didn't feel like watching TV and neither did he want to drink some warm tea just yet. He felt like… writing. Usually, when he had that need, he just wrote his thoughts or fictions down randomly in a spur. His writing would be messy and mostly unreadable, but it was his way of venting. And, so, he made his way back into the bedroom before proceeding to search through Francis' closet in search for his notebook. However, that was impossible. He hadn't written anything since he arrived, seeing as Francis was always around and Arthur felt too awkward to do so, so he never retrieved his notebook from the bunch of things he had discarded into the closet. He remembered completely emptying his luggage bag and Francis having throwing it beneath the bed, but there _was_ a chance that he might have left it in there.

So, with that determination in his mind to find his notebook so he wouldn't do _crazy_, Arthur got on his knees and looked beneath the bed. He grabbed a hold of the handle of his luggage bag and began to pull it out, however he noticed what seemed like a folder overflowing with papers, so he pulled that out instead. Shuffling back a little and placing the folder flat on the floor, he slowly opened it up and allowed his eyes to read what was to be read, as curiousity prodded at his heart.

It was… letters, pictures, and nearly everything personal about Francis. Arthur wanted to just put this back because he was a big supporter for privacy, seeing as Alfred was a _huge_ invader of _his_ privacy, but for some reason he just couldn't pull himself away. The letters consisted of Francis' thoughts, addressed to no one in particular. They spoke of seeing the world in the monotone radiance, an abundance of grey with no colour. They spoke of the darkness that he felt on the inside. They spoke of the emptiness that he was despite having gone out to do 'adult' things for company.

That last part made Arthur's heart drop a bit; he didn't like the thought of Francis being intimate with anyone, even if they were strangers. _It made him jealous. _But that didn't matter right now, what mattered was how… sad, Francis was.

Beside each letter was a picture of scenery, people on the streets, animals that adventured about, or the types of foods he had ordered at restaurants. There were even pictures of friends or family posing… There were so many, and yet he wasn't in any of them. One picture there was a bunch of people gathered in front of the Eiffel tower, holding up a sign that said '_Le quatorze juillet!_' Arthur knew that would have been taken on the 14th of July – on Bastille Day, as he and other English-speaking countries called it. And yet Francis was obviously behind the camera.

On the other side of the picture, there was a note Francis had written. It spoke of why they celebrated Bastille Day and how French people came together in unity… but it ended with Francis portraying his feelings by telling how he felt like he was watching his body from above. He didn't feel like he was there with his family and friends, he didn't feel involved with the celebration. In fact, each and every one of his letters spoke of his dull feelings and his aching beliefs. Arthur had just wanted to give the other a hug and tell him that he isn't alone.

There was the sound of the front door opening and closing, car keys thrown aside lazily on the table, and footsteps sounding towards the coat stand. Arthur hadn't realised that time flew by – it was only 6:56pm though, so Francis must've come home straight away to check on him.

Quickly wiping away the tears that ran down his flushed cheeks, the Englishman closed the folder and shoved it beneath the bed once more, standing up and dusting himself off. However, he didn't even give Francis the chance to enter the bedroom when he ran out and _literally_ half dove for him. With his legs giving out, Arthur wrapped his arms around Francis who was midway through pulling his coat off, and buried his face in his stomach.

"Arthur? You should be in bed—"

"You idiot! You're an idiot!" Arthur yelled – his voice muffled by the other's stomach though, as his tears quickly began to dampen Francis' shirt. Upon feeling the cool liquid through the fabric, Francis' eyes widened a little as he finished taking off his coat and helping Arthur up onto his feet.

"Arthur, what happened—?"

He was cut off once more when the Englishman wrapped his arms around his neck and furthermore buried his face into his shoulder, tears still coming. Francis responded by holding Arthur gently, hands placed at his lower back as he held him close in a comforting manner.

"You have to tell me what's wrong—"

"Nothing's wrong, I'm just…" Arthur began, voice mumbled once more. He hesitated with saying anything for now. He couldn't just tell Francis he wasn't alone, otherwise the Frenchman would figure out that Arthur had gone through is personal things and probably get angry at him. And Arthur didn't want that, he just wanted to show Francis through psychical actions that he wasn't alone. Hopefully Francis has forgotten that depressing, monotone feeling. "…bad nightmare, I was… It was fucking scary…"

Arthur said each word between sobs, before Francis had eventually laughed in relief. He fooled him for now.

"Jesus, Arthur, you had me thinking something bad happened!" Francis replied, more laughter sounding shortly after, before Arthur had slightly pulled away to glare at him with puffy red eyes.

"It _was_ bad! It was terrible!"

"It was just a _dream_, it wasn't real, silly."

"Well… it felt real," Arthur mumbled, pouting the slightest as he shifted his eyes away. However, he soon looked back at Francis when the other blond had moved his hand to wipe away the tears that had run down his cheeks and gathered at his jawline, feeling an uneasy sensation on the inside.

"But it wasn't, so don't worry," Francis soothed, his lips curved into a gentle smile. Arthur had just wanted to kiss him so hard, but he was always too awkward and proud to make the first move. "And I'm sorry it made you cry, I don't think such sweet things should ever weep."

"I'm not sweet, frog," Arthur replied with a sharp, hard voice – eyes narrowed in a death stare. Of course, Francis simply laughed gently, obviously mocking the other.

"Not when you're angry," he said. "But there's time when you're off in your own world, and you just seem to sweet and innocent."

"Well, I'm neither, so shut up already!"

Francis laughed, louder this time, and with more joy. Arthur couldn't help but sniffle and smile weakly at the other, wanting to laugh himself, but feeling too heavy to do so. And during the following hours, the two proceeded to make themselves dinner – Arthur, of course, having to be told everything seeing as he was still terrible at cooking – before they both proceeded to take their separate showers and lastly share a smoke on the balcony, under the starlit sky. During so, they spoke of their day, apologised for bad attitudes, and then made plans for tomorrow… all before they decided they would probably need an early night to not miss the concert, and went to bed with their alarm set to a certain time.

They slept close to each other again, Francis purposely pulling Arthur into a cuddle, believing that the other would feel safe from his 'nightmare', but Arthur simply agreed to do so because of the warmth he radiated. Plus, he smelt good like usual, so it was easy for him to slip into unconsciousness alongside the very man who was slowly gaining possession of his heart.

While Francis believed that the two were cuddling because Arthur was scared, Arthur believed that it was because Francis felt alone. Both males had convinced themselves that such an affection course of action involving the two was for the _other's_ personal gain, but it was a completely selfish move. But it was a good selfish. At least they both drifted off to sleep feeling entirely content with themselves – which was what they both needed.

* * *

It was raining the next day, and Arthur stood in the car park of the large auditorium, laughing loudly and with almost complete insanity. The music from inside was loud and could be heard from where he was, and it was consisted of an abundance of this gorgeous, fast piano song being played. It eventually slowed down to a soft, slow pace, before picking up once more. Arthur didn't technically _miss_ the concert, but he missed the chance to get in – and that made him feel completely defeated by life.

"God, you're such a cry baby, get out of the rain or your cold will worsen, idiot," Francis said, laughing at the other as he looked around in hope that no one witnessed these two. He was bundled up in warm clothes, and he held a large, black umbrella to protect him from the heavy rain coming down on this certain area at the moment.

"No, this is just fucking great!" Arthur cried out, his hands reaching up to fist his hair with frustration, before he turned to face Francis who was giving him the look of 'I don't know you'. "It's not like I was really looking forward to this or anything!"

"Stop stressing out," Francis replied, approaching Arthur and grabbing him by the wrist. "It's our day off, so let's just relax."

"I was supposed to relax by going to Roderich Edelstein's concert, frog!" Arthur whined, pulling back, before he lost the game of tug of war and was forcefully pulled into Francis' presence beneath the umbrella. Rain drops ran along the bridge of his nose and dripped from his hair, eyelashes thick and wet as droplets littered his skin and the red of his lips. He was completely soaked, and the last time Francis remembered, he didn't keep spare clothes or a towel in his car.

"Jesus Christ, you're all wet," Francis noted, wanting to back away a little so he also wouldn't get wet, but not being able to do so because of the coverage the umbrella gave. "Look, we can do something else, like… watch a movie, I guess."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but he soon closed it like a gaping fish. He looked off to the side with a frown, pouting the slightest.

"…fine," he muttered, Francis responding with a gentle smile from getting the other to calm down. "But I want to also visit some of the tourist attractions."

"No way, Arthur," Francis said, nudging him in the side. "You're with someone whohas lived in France his _whole_ life; I can show you better things than the tourism company can ever show you. Plus, they'll rip you off, and my services are free."

"Not exactly free when I'm stuck with you."

Francis laughed cockily, before poking the other in the middle of his forehead, soon replying with, "I don't know, I have a feeling you enjoy my company."

Arthur went red, before he clenched his fist and hit Francis in the side, causing the Frenchman to double over the slightest with an "ow!"

"I _do_ not, frog!" he shouted in defence, going to yell once more but stopping when he felt the urge to sneeze. As he tilted his head back, hands reaching up, Francis backed away a little. However, Francis' attempt to get out of Arthur's sneezing range failed when the Englishman had purposely let loose on him, causing the other to whine a little.

"Ew, Arthur! That's gross! Be more etiquette!" he shouted, wiping away at his shoulder, where Arthur had sneezed. In the meanwhile, the short-haired blond had reached for his handkerchief and was holding it up to his nose, as he glared daggers at the other.

"It was just a sneeze, you're not dying," Arthur mumbled, his voice sounding a little strange due to the blockage of his sinus. Though, despite having a hard glare, he did eventually loosen up and allow a gentle smile to cross his lips for a moment when Francis had continued to squirm in disgust. "Stop acting like I'm infected with some virus!"

"You're _sick!_ I don't want your germs!" Francis yelled back as rebuttal, before eventually calming down when Arthur had shook his head like a dog, droplets of water landing on him. He frowned at that, brushing himself off. "Stop trying to mess up my hot guy look."

"Hot guy look?"

"Oui," he paused for a moment, pulling at the beanie that was placed upon his head – his hair, for once, let down. He did have a hot guy look, but Arthur would never admit that out loud. "I purposely dressed better than usual… so, you know, I look good in public? People _do,_ do that… right?"

Arthur didn't reply, instead he looked the other up and down. He _did_ look different to what the Englishman had grown used to, but that just made him realise that no matter what Francis wore, he was always good-looking! Even at work, or when he's just lazing around, and now to when he actually dresses up. He looked like a fucking superstar; Arthur had almost felt too embarrassed to be around him – seeing as heads will be turned when he himself didn't look so stunning.

_Fuck Francis. _

"You can fool strangers, but you can't fool me, I've seen you in your underwear—"

"I bet I looked better then! What am I even saying? I always look good."

Arthur glared at him, giving him a look that just painfully spoke 'you're an idiot'. However, Francis soon went from his irresistible cute-boy grin, to instead look at the other blond like how one would look to a younger brother, or child.

"You're not too bad looking yourself," he said, patting Arthur on the head, which caused the Englishman to rid of the other's hand before pinching him in the side with annoyance. Of course, Francis flinched as usual, before laughing in submission. "I'm being serious! Honestly!"

"I don't care! I'm… I'm cold, frog," Arthur mumbled, moving his arms so he could hug himself. Subconsciously, he had leant against Francis, resting against him for a moment in the need of warmth. "Can we go home so I can get changed? I'll be super quick, I promise. Maybe then the rain would have stopped by then."

Francis smiled softly, running a hand through Arthur's wet locks, before nodding in response.

"Sure," he replied, no longer really bothered with having his look messed up – although he never really was; he was just messing with Arthur – as he allowed the other blond to lean against him despite being soaked and causing his own clothing to become a little damp. "At least then it'll give me the opportunity to stuff cold tablets into my bag, seeing as you might need it."

"I won't need it, I'm fine," Arthur replied stubbornly, the two beginning to make their way back to the other side of the parking lot, where Francis had his car parked. "There's no need—"

"I know, Arthur, I know," Francis said, cutting him off, as his free hand that wasn't holding the umbrella went around to pull the other blond in by his waist – holding him close so the two had less chance of getting hit by the rain. "But I told you to let me worry about you sometimes. You _was_ just standing in the rain, and you already have a cold. I don't want you feeling like shit when you're supposed to be relaxing and enjoying yourself today."

Arthur didn't know what to say in return. He instead turned his gaze to look at the other male who was embracing him as they walked. The air was cold and the rain was loud, yet everything seemed to have just zoned out when he fully focused on Francis. He was so… gorgeous. By now, the Englishman had told himself that Francis was extremely attractive about a million times, but every time he glanced at him, it was like he was seeing him for the first time ever. It was because he had such a unique look to him – Arthur was surprised to find that Francis was, indeed, single. He had guessed that many men and women would be chasing him by the heels. That's when Arthur began to wonder if he had any competition – say, a 'friend' or someone Francis has been seeing.

The thought of that simply made him scoff with amusement as he leant his head against Francis' shoulder and continued to walk through the parking lot, a smile on his lips.

Francis _was_ the one to say they weren't dating yet. Even if that was a joke, Arthur believed that with all of his heart. Francis was _his._ He wouldn't let anyone take him, not after realising just how attached he was to him. Arthur might just practically die on the inside if he were to find out that the other was seeing someone, or if he would gain interest in someone other than him. It was simply because the Englishman rarely gets too attached to people while his blunt and sometimes rude personality wards off others. So, in a way, he knew what it felt to be lonely – he could relate to Francis on a personal level.

Francis was perfect to Arthur, though. Sure, there were times he wanted to strangle the fuck out of him, but then there were times where he just wanted to fuck the living shit out of him too. But he wasn't even too concerned about the whole physical side of things anymore, it was Francis' personality and his choice of words and his little habits and his love for art and his point of view on things and just everything that he was attracted to… and that was just great. He wondered if Francis would ever feel the same way. Hopefully he did.

* * *

**A/N: I sort of felt lost with this chapter, so I apologise for the shittiness of it. I guessed I had just felt the need for rain and crying. Anyways, I'll try harder on the next chapter, I promise!**

**Also, thank you entirely for the good reviews. I'm really stoked – so stoked that I'm really inspired to keep writing for you guys, so thank you for sticking with me. I really appreciate it.**

**Lastly, any ideas or anything you want to see in the next/upcoming chapters would help me a lot. I already have an idea of what's going to happen and how I'm going to end this, but I'm open to suggestions.**

**Thanks!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: ****This chapter is a little more serious, although… all of my chapters are serious. Just a warning, I guess.**

**Anyways, enjoy!**

* * *

Arthur was seated on the floor in front of Francis' sofa that was situated in the living room. Francis, in the meanwhile, was seated on said sofa with the other blond in between his legs, using a dry towel to rid of the dampness in his locks. His techniques were soft enough to not hurt or pull at Arthur's hair, but they were firm also. In fact, it felt more of like a massage to the Englishman, and Arthur never knew a head massage could feel so relaxing.

"Hmm…," he moaned, leaning his head back a little, causing Francis to sneer with annoyance as he pushed his head back up right.

"Stop moving or do this yourself," he said, before moving his hands down to pat Arthur's neck and shoulders dry that were still littered with raindrops even after changing into clean clothes. "Geez, you're not a kid."

"I know," Arthur replied proudly, rolling his head back – Francis' hands rested on his shoulders – to look up at the other male with quite the wide smile on his lips. "You're just really good with your fingers."

Everything was silent for the moment, as the two prolonged their eye contact. However, during their moment of silence, Arthur's face went as red as a tomato and the corner of Francis' lips twitched. Suddenly, the quiet atmosphere was broken when Francis had flung himself back onto the sofa in a burst of laughter, whilst Arthur sat back upright with a hand over his mouth embarrassingly.

"Mon Dieu, mon Dieu!"

"S-Shut up, frog! I didn't mean it like that!"

Francis continued laughing for a while, his stomach so tight that it had begun to hurt, as he gasped for much needed air.

"I know it's just…," he broke off for a moment, wiping away the tears that had gathered at his eyes as he looked down at the Englishman – who was still completely coloured red and was looking back at him with a death glare – before continuing, "You're so awkward and cute that your choice of words were terrible."

"I'm not awkward, you little shit!" Arthur yelled in response, holding the towel that was around his shoulders tightly in his grasp making the knuckles of his hands going white. "I interview people and write feature articles and what-not for a living, I think my charismatic skills are golden."

"During work, maybe, but I can't imagine you picking up a guy."

"What's that supposed to mean!?"

"It's as exactly how it sounds," Francis sat up in his seat, folding one leg over the other, as he crossed his arms and looked down at Arthur with a smirk that was teasing and dominant and alluring and almost irresistible. Arthur definitely could feel the atmosphere around them calm down as his heart beat picked up. "It's like you can't flirt."

Arthur was silent, staring back at the other. That usual sensation of steam arising from his cheeks was happening once more, so he nibbled on his bottom lip nervously in attempt to calm himself down and look at least a _little_ strong in front of the very male that was somewhat challenging him.

"I don't need to flirt."

Francis rose a brow, that smirk of his disappearing and the strength in his jaw looking as if it had lost some of its sturdiness, before replying with, "And why's that?"

"What makes you think I'm single and needing to pick up men?"

Arthur's heart dropped. He knew he said that himself, but he just felt… nervous, he guessed – for Francis' reaction. It was like he was testing the waters; seeing where he was at with this guy… seeing if Francis even gave a shit about Arthur's love life.

"You said it yourself," Francis then said, his voice changing from his usual calm, husky and attractive tone to more of a confused or even a little angered one. The simple observation of that made Arthur smirk on the inside, like he had won this battle. "When we first met, you said you were single because I questioned if you were talking on the phone to your girlfriend."

"Maybe I lied."

Francis didn't reply with anything then. The two males simply shared the same intense gaze as if there was an extreme abundance of sexual tension between them, but neither of them had wanted the other to know that they were physically and emotionally attracted to each other. It was like they were giving in if they did that and both Arthur and Francis had stubborn personalities towards each other – they didn't want to be the weak one. While Francis thought _he_ was the one that had Arthur drawn up on strings like a puppet – which was actually completely and utterly true – Arthur felt as if _he_ was the puppeteer – which was only slowly becoming true.

Still, they were oblivious that the other felt the same way… _romance_-wise. In the end, they were both idiots that confused the hell out of each other.

"Don't turn my idle curiousity into undivided attention," Francis eventually said, leaning back in his seat. The hands that belonged to the arms that were crossed over his chest neatly grabbed onto his biceps in a death grip, long and slender fingers curling so much it almost caused pain.

"Haven't I already?" Arthur then asked rhetorically, smirking in an 'I win' manner as he stood up in his spot. He would have looked completely dominant and godlike if it weren't for those cheeks of his that were a shade lighter now – but still deep red in colour.

Francis, however, reminded himself that _he_ was the man. He wouldn't let someone like Arthur Kirkland mess up his feelings and confuse the hell out of his mind – that was _hi_s job to do to others.

Standing up too, Francis took a few steps to stand uncomfortably close to Arthur – however the Englishman didn't step back in fear of looking like he was stepping down. The long haired blond soon the proceeded to cup the other's cheek, before moving his hand to hold onto his chin in a tight grip so Arthur was forced to look at him, less he closed his eyes.

"Well, since you already '_have_'," Francis said, going along with Arthur's question to his advantage. "Do you or do you not have a boyfriend? A husband, even? Or maybe just a romantic interest?"

Arthur was going to faint. Not literally, but that's what it felt like. Francis was so close again… and even _touching_ him, out of all the things. It was almost impossible to even think in English, but he soon was able to produce a string of words to form a sentence.

"I would like to know why you're so interested in the first place," he eventually replied. He could _swear_ he could feel their lips brushing up against each other – the fine hairs on Francis' face pricking him the slightest in recoil. "I don't think it's none of your concern—"

"Oh, it's of my concern," Francis said – his voice deep and low with sharpness to it – a serious sharpness. Those usual easy going eyes narrowed in seriousness. His lips were thinned to portray seriousness. He was just so serious right now. "Do you know how to take a hint?"

Arthur frowned, wanting to say something when a finger was placed against his lips to quieten him, before Francis soon continued.

"I want to know if I have competition or not," he said, leaning closer – if that was even possible without lip locking – as Arthur's hands flew to hold Francis by the forearms for stability from falling flat on his ass. "Or if it's already game over."

So Francis _wasn't_ just playing around when he said 'yet' at the park bench. That thought alone made Arthur want to squeal and roll around on the floor in excitement as well as wrap his arms around Francis' neck and kiss him in a slow and romantic manner as well as let his hands undo the other's belt to get hot and sexual as well as push him away and hide in a cupboard to ignite into fire as well as—

Well, to put it short, he was a mixture of emotions.

Eventually, though, he forced himself to breathe and calm down as he asked with a shaky voice, wanting to sound a little curious but to also be certain with the other's intentions, "…what are you trying to say, Francis?"

Francis just stared into Arthur's eyes, his face completely blank – which was painstakingly different to how he's usually like. Usually he's flirty and funny and friendly and sometimes annoying and always annoying and smiling and making dirty jokes and just… not so serious. Arthur _swore_ he was going to faint.

"Nothing," Francis soon said, smiling weakly as he released the other, making room between the two by stepping back the slightest. "Shall we get going? We don't want to miss our movie now, do we?"

Arthur couldn't believe him. He felt anger swelling up inside of his stomach and the urge to just punch him straight in the jaw right now. There were fingers tight around his heart, and the blood dripped so slowly like the life force inside of him was draining with each second. Arthur _hated_ Francis; hated that he had such power over him.

"No," he said, his chest rising and falling with each full and heavy breath, as he clenched and unclenched his fists. "No, we don't."

* * *

The rain had settled down by now, and just over the darkness of the clouds hanging in the sky, the sun shone through. The warmth had radiated through the air sending balminess towards anyone or anything indulging in the sunlight. Scattered along the city were small puddles of where the rain water had gathered, kids jumping in them for entertainment, men helping women step over them or otherwise pets drinking out of them. In the end, a fresh rainwater smell had dominated the area – and Arthur had felt more than appreciative of such a thing seeing as he was still flustered and even pissed with Francis and himself for being so damn _weak_.

"Hungry?" Francis' voice suddenly filled Arthur's ears, his low and stimulating voice reverberating almost captivatedly. "We can get snacks if you'd like."

They were standing just outside of the theatre – and while the sky was still overcast, Arthur went out of his way to stand in the slight sunshine that was shining through. Sure, he was used to lots of rain back at home, but he liked the sun. It made him feel warm and… comfortable. Like when he's with Francis.

_No._ Arthur told himself. _No. _He's still angry with Francis, and he'll make sure the other knows that, too.

"Do what you want," he replied in a harsh tone, refusing to look at the other as he turned his gaze towards the unending groups of people that were walking into the theatre – boys, girls, women, men, children, infants; either on dates or on a family outing or simply a get together. In a way, it was like he and Francis was on a date, and that made Arthur's insides melt. "I don't… uh, care."

Everything was silent, until Arthur's hands had flown to his face when he leant his head back and sneezed loudly. Recovering, he sniffled, before taking his handkerchief out for a moment and dapping at his dripping nose, before pocketing the piece of smooth fabric once more.

"Are you okay?" Francis asked, reaching a hand up to play with the locks at the back of Arthur's head. The Englishman, caught off guard, grew defensive as he retaliated by turning his head to make eye contact, thick eyebrows furrowed in a defensive manner.

"Don't touch me," he said, still in that harsh tone of his. However, his fair face was pink at the tips of his nose and cheeks due to the abundance of cold through the air, as well as the warmth from the sun, as well as the sickness he had caught. "I said don't touch me."

"Saving yourself for your possible lover, hm?" Francis asked rhetorically, lowering his hand to instead stick it into the pocket of that lovely leather jacket of his. He still looked like a superstar or a celebrity, and Arthur could have _sworn_ that attention was being turned towards the two. "It was a friendly gesture, don't worry—"

"Jesus, what's it to you?" Arthur asked, shaking his head in disbelief before lowering it, noticing the gazes and whispers from other movie-goers. "Why do you care so much?"

"I'm curious."

"Then it shouldn't matter, so stop asking."

"Why can't you just tell me?"

"Why can't _you_ just give me a legitimate reason to tell you?"

"Because," Francis said quietly, his hand moving up to move some of those long blond locks that fell over his face, just as Arthur lifted his head to make eye contact with the Frenchman. "…because."

Arthur raised a brow, his lips curving in a confused manner before clarifying, "Because?"

"Yes, because," the long haired blond paused for a moment, for once looking uneasy and maybe even _nervous._ What a change. Arthur has never seen someone so cool and collected and dominant with everything act so… scared. "…because I want you."

"You want _me?_" Arthur asked, again to clarify that he wasn't mishearing things. He actually couldn't believe this was happening _right_ now. Francis fucking Bonnefoy wants _him._ He may have figured that half an hour ago back at the apartment, but actually hearing it put into words was just too much for him. Surely, he was out of his mind. "Me? Arthur Kirkland? Are you crazy? Why me, out of all the people in this country… in the _world_? Why would you even—?"

"I don't know, you tell me," Francis cut him off; shrugging his shoulders like this was no big deal to him, although it definitely was. "I just want you."

Arthur couldn't speak – his body literally immobilised him to do so. He just stared at Francis with large, emerald eyes that contain every single emotion he was feeling right now – hate, love, confusion, anger, _longing. _The two had only known each other for about a week and here Francis was confessing nonsense. Surely, Arthur wasn't against it, it just felt… wrong, for him. He wanted to take it slow, get to know him better. Then again, he also believed that they could never be together – they _were_ temporary co-workers. Arthur wasn't going to stick around forever. Might as well keep the level of pain and hurt to its minimum.

He wanted Francis more than anything right now, but he _couldn't_, despite having a want for exactly, well, this – Francis returning his own feelings.

"…you can't…," he breathed, eventually finding the words that were stuck in his throat that was tight. He felt like he was on the edge – like he was about to cry his heart out, like he was about to roll up into a ball and lay there in silence, like he was about to just _give up._ "…you and I… we can't, Francis…"

"What do you mean 'we can't'? Why not? Are you actually telling me you _were_ lying when we first met?"

Arthur shook his head, lowering it one time to hide the tears that welled at his eyes so Francis couldn't see them, before answering, "…I wasn't lying. I have no one… frog. It's just—"

"So, _why?_" Francis' voice rose in volume, as he lashed out to grip the Englishman by the wrist, Arthur snapping his head up so they could share an intense and emotional gaze. "_Why? _Don't _fuck_ with me, Arthur. Don't do this to me."

"_You_ don't do this me! I didn't provoke you at all!" Arthur yelled back, gaining more curiousity from the people that was entering and exiting, or simply standing there waiting. "You're saying all this shit when it's never going to work out!"

"Why won't it work out? Give me _one_ good reason why it wouldn't work out."

"Because…," the short haired blond breathed, pulling back on Francis' grip, but being unsuccessful from breaking free. He _had_ to face this right now; this instant. "Haven't we only _just_ met? I'm not going to be around forever as well, and we fight a lot—"

"In this past week, Arthur," Francis cut him off; his cheeks flushed a soft pink colour _not_ from the cool weather, but from the overwhelming feelings inside, "I have felt more accustomed to you then to anyone else in my whole life. Say I'm exaggerating if you want to, but it's the truth."

Arthur lowered his head, his thick eyebrows furrowed in annoyance as well as in complete and utter hopelessness. He wanted to _die._ He wanted to accept Francis' feelings. He wanted to _be_ with him. But he just felt so strange. He felt so wrong. He felt so out of place. He felt so… awkward.

His past relations were never like this. Even if they didn't always hit it off, he never felt so bipolar on the inside. He was always calm, there wasn't this overwhelming amount of feelings, and things they did weren't always so special – like kisses on New Year's or gifts during holidays. But with Francis everything was so outrageous. It was like he was on drugs… and that _scared_ Arthur. This was probably, as he clarified to himself, why he was so reluctant to let this be something – finding excuses as to why they shouldn't date. He was running away from the very man that made him _crazy._

"I—"

"I'm desperate at this point, don't you see that?" Francis asked, his eyes watering only the slightest, but otherwise almost unnoticeable unless one were in Arthur's position. "I like you."

"I like you too! Really, I do, Francis! I'm just… so fucking scared, I'm scared!" he said hysterically, wanting to pull away but being unable to do so when the other male had pulled him into a full hug. Arthur buried his face into Francis' shoulder, his weak and cold hands taking the sides of the Frenchman's jacket in a tight death grip.

The two stood in silence after that – with hearts racing, chests pumping and palms sweating. Both of them had just wanted to run away from each other – despite having Francis be so pushy. They hated each other, yet at the same time they were completely infatuated with each other. It was surreal.

"We're a mess," Francis said calmly, his hand running up and down Arthur's back in a soothing manner.

"Thanks to you, frog," Arthur replied, _just_ being able to form words due to the extreme tightness of his throat. He was literally on the edge, but he forced himself to not cry. Not in public; not in front of Francis again. He _wasn't_ a cry baby. "God, you're a fucking jerk."

"I know," he agreed, lowering his head the slightest, "Je suis désolé."

"Don't apologise."

Again, the atmosphere between the two went silent once more, yet the atmosphere around them was loud and bustling. It was then that Arthur finally remembered that, yes, he _was_ in public – and so he quickly pulled away from Francis with embarrassment colouring his cheeks.

"Don't be so afraid of me, Arthur," Francis urged, his hands reaching into his pockets once more as he stood coolly, gazing at the other male with eyes that Arthur had grown so familiarised with. "I won't suck out your soul and sacrifice your body to Satan with any affectionate gesture."

"I'm not afraid of _you_, git," Arthur replied, his hands reaching up to his mouth as he nibbled on his sleeve, trying his best to hide the small smile that commended its way upon his pink lips. "I'm afraid of… well, me... I guess. I've never felt this way about something before – it pushes me away and I… I hate you for it."

"I hate you too."

Francis was smiling, and when the two had gazed at each other in an admirable manner, they soon broke off with a soft laugh. They really were a mess.

Eventually though, they quietened, and were simply left to gaze into each other's eyes with a blank face masking their features. Arthur noted that Francis was so mature looking, despite his personality. He had that scruff lining his jawline, loose and long blond hair that looked frequently taken care of because of how beautiful it is, long eyelashes that brought out the blue in his eyes. Despite that, he had an angular face with a strong nose, lips that were slightly thinned although curvy. His eyebrows were strong and a shade darker than the hair upon his head. He had such a mature look.

Meanwhile, Francis noted that Arthur had such baby face, which… sort of did suit his personality, because of how 'tsundere' he was. His eyes were large and held an amazing abundance of green and yellow. Thick long eyelashes lined them, and they made his eyes look even _more_ bigger. His cheeks were full and always flushed a slight pink in colour, whilst his kid-ish nose looked like it was dipped into a bucket full of rose-coloured paint. The blond hair that stood upon his head was scruffy and always untamed, with sharp ends that shaped his face almost perfectly. His main feature was those incredibly bushy and strong eyebrows of his though. They brought out the strength and feminism in his face somehow.

"You're beautiful."

Arthur's eyes widen with shock, before frowning and turning his gaze elsewhere as he replied with, "Shut up, that makes me feel like a woman."

"But you're not," Francis clarified, that gleam in his eyes as a warm smile stayed upon his lips. He reached out to cup Arthur's cheek – for once, the Englishman bravely retorting by placing his hand over the others, leaning into his touch the slightest. The simple feel of Francis almost made him explode with disgust, melt with admiration. What was he to do? Accept Francis or reject him? Create a blooming relationship or awkwardness? Pain or relief? Well, there was never any relief anymore, no matter what he did… it was pain – pain for having to leave eventually, or even a possible break up; or pain from the longing between the two, dealing hurt onto Francis. It was just so much pain.

Perhaps Arthur should do this for Francis though. He never knew how the future would turn out. Plus, Francis did say he felt so accustomed to him. Does that mean he feels less lonely? That's exactly what the Englishman wanted. He wanted nothing more than to just make Francis happy… even though every single thing the other blond did pissed him off to no end.

"Be mine," Francis spoke quietly, his voice _just_ reaching Arthur's ears over the loud noise of the fellow movie-goers going in and out, chatting amongst themselves, exclaiming in excitement and so on and so forth, "Je t'adore."

_I adore you._

Everything seemed so much more romantic when it's said in French. And, yet, Francis chose a terrible time and place to ask for Arthur's heart. The Englishman couldn't help but laugh on the inside at the thought. _What an idiot._ And here he thought that the French were quixotic and wonderful. Well, even so, this certain Frenchman was.

"…whatever," Arthur eventually said, a little nervous. It was obvious, too, because of the shake in his voice. He was still unsure, but… he decided to just follow his heart. He'll probably get hurt in the end, he knew that, but he was doing this for Francis. It wasn't like he was coerced into dating, or anything, he also wanted this. He was just bipolar about his feelings as usual. "Sure, whatever… yes."

Arthur watched as Francis' expression changed from one with a strained smile, to one with a _real_ smile. It was wide and beautiful that showed pearly white teeth, his eyes slanted a little to show relief, and the simple _joy_ was embedded into every feature on his face. He truly was beautiful. He was a beautiful man who did beautiful art who said beautiful things. He was _gorgeous_; inside and out. It was upsetting to find out how sad he is.

"So you're my boyfriend now, oui?"

"D-Don't say it like that, we only _just_ started dating frog!" Arthur exclaimed, going almost tomato red as he looked around. No one had heard Francis, but they heard the short haired blond when he had suddenly burst out with nerves. This caused the Frenchman to laugh with appreciation, the fire in his heart now a soft flame, feeling so content with himself.

"Come on, we should get our tickets and whatever else before the doors close," Francis then suggested, the hearts in both males' chest still continuing to pump hard and fast. They felt even more alive being together now simply because… they had permission to touch each other. Francis could grab Arthur's ass, Arthur could latch onto his arm. Francis could kiss Arthur's forehead, Arthur could hug him. Francis could bite Arthur's neck, Arthur could hold his hand. Although they both had different motives, they were extremely content with how this ended. A good ending that Arthur believed would turn bad eventually – but he pushed that thought way back in his mind. He had Francis and Francis only to focus on. Oh, and work of course.

"Yeah, let's go, what were we going to watch again?" Arthur then replied – reaching his hand out for Francis to grab – in which he did – before both of them had made their way into the theatre. Francis had reminded him of what they were going to watch, before they both proceeded to buy tickets and any overpriced snacks that were going to be brought with them into the theatre. In the end, though, they had just gotten a large popcorn and drink – they weren't exactly rich to waste their money like that _before_ they had even gone to the large mall they were planning to go to after the movies… maybe to do some shopping. Or not. Arthur just wanted to spend time with Francis, and Francis wanted the exact same. They didn't even care what they got up to.

Though, the things they _did_ get up to were trivial things. They even held hands in public, for the first time. Things like shopping – Francis getting new films for his Polaroid camera after taking many pictures of the other blond and the scenery during that day whilst Arthur got new books to read and even different types of teas to taste – to things like simply wondering the streets of Paris. During the evening, they found themselves near the Eiffel tower, the lights of the huge monument just starting to come on as the sun began to set.

"You live in the most beautiful country, Francis," Arthur said, the hand that was holding the other by the bicep soon lowering to instead interlock their fingers. Although, it was _true_ that they had just started officially dating today, being around Francis was as per usual. He was a wreck and yet he felt so calm at the same time. There really was no difference to how they were before, except… well, they touched each other more. "I'm… jealous."

"England itself is a wonderful country too, Arthur," Francis replied, moving himself to sit on the grass alongside many other peoples near the Trocadero fountains that was across from the Eiffel Tower. From this place, they had the perfect view of France's most iconic structure, and it was most captivating. "I went there once a few years ago for vacation. It rained a lot."

"Depressing, isn't it? It's always so grey," Arthur clarified, folding his legs so he sat cross-legged. "But here it's always so sunny and, I don't know, I feel happier."

"Maybe it's just me making you feel like that," Francis teased, laughing gently when the other male had punched him in the side. He took a moment to breathe and catch his breath, laughing once more when he had found Arthur smirking the slightest due to such childishness.

"What?" he asked, before frowning in playfulness and hitting him once more, "Stop laughing, frog!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" he replied, forcing himself to calm down, before setting his gaze upon Arthur with a gentle expression. "But… I feel the same."

"What?"

"Happier," Francis said, pausing for a moment when he averted his gaze and looked down at his hands that were fumbling with each other. "I feel happier too."

That was what set Arthur off… on the inside, of course. On the outside, he was smiling like an idiot.

"Good," he said with a gentle tone, gaining Francis' attention once more as his eyes widened with slight surprise, feeling his cheeks heat up one time. "I-I mean, uh, good for you! I don't care."

He frowned, blushing even deeper, as he pouted the slightest and shifted his eyes to the side to look at the fountains on their right. Francis, laughing the quietest, took hold of the other blond's chin and turned him so they were facing each other once more.

"Thanks for caring."

Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

"I… I appreciate it more than anything."

Arthur's palms began to sweat out of _pure_ nerves.

"I don't feel so lonely in such a monotone world."

His stomach dropped…

"Thank you."

...and he lost his breath.

"Thank you…," Francis voice was low and quiet, and he soon leant forward, and that's when everything went slow motion for Arthur. The Englishman had his heart caught up in his throat, and he was _literally_ holding his breath. However, the other man stopped just so their lips were brushing against each other, soon Arthur lowering his head to avoid being kissed. That's when Francis leant upwards to peck him on the forehead. "…thank you."

Arthur, in short, was _dying_.

* * *

"You play violin, don't you, Arthur?" Francis asked, Arthur averting his attention from the book he was reading to the long haired blond who was over by the closet of the bedroom, looking for something. It was nightfall, and only a few hours prior the two had returned back home after spending the remainder of their evening near the Eiffel tower simply talking about unimportant things.

Arthur, seated on the bed, sat up a little before turning his gaze downwards at the pages that were telling him a beautiful story of two protagonists that eventually fell in love after so much hate in between them. The Englishman favourite the female, though. She was tough, blunt, rude sometimes but she was loyal, trustworthy and a hard worker. There were times he felt angry with her though, but then completely admired her, sometimes felt saddened over what happened to their, then felt joy for her fate. However, he soon placed his bookmark between the pages as he realised he had completely ignored his… _boyfriend_, before placing the book on the bedside table.

"Uh, yes… I do," he eventually replied; bringing his knees up to his chest as he hugged his legs. "Why's that?"

"May I hear you play one day? I think any and all type of art is worthy to be appreciated – even if it's not good. The artist put a lot of time and effort into their masterpiece, and that makes it successful, right?"

Arthur hadn't seen it that way before. Then again, he wasn't an artist, Francis was. Francis saw the world through rose-coloured glass from a distance whilst Arthur saw it in a dull way. But they did share one thing – they were both so grey on the inside. That was Arthur's nature though; Francis would have grown up to be so… sad. He was nurtured like that.

"I'm not an artist though," Arthur replied. "I only play because I want to."

"And that itself is beautiful."

Everything was silent seeing as the short haired blond decided not to argue against the fact, before the quietness was soon broken by the Frenchman as Francis exclaimed a "viola!" to himself. He had obviously found the thing he was searching for in the crowded closet. With his back facing Arthur, the Englishman narrowed his eyes the slightest as he folded his arms over his chest, thick eyebrows furrowing one time.

"What are you—?"

"Here!" Francis exclaimed, pulling out a black case before turning around to show Arthur. It was his _violin_. "I'm so glad you brought it! Mon cher, play it now!"

"No, Francis, put it away!" Arthur shouted in response, before getting up from his spot on the bed and approaching the other blond who had the violin case in his possession. "It's too late to play; I'll wake up the neighbours!"

"Who cares?"

"Obviously _they_ do!"

Arthur had pulled free the violin case of Francis, but the Frenchman seen this as his opportunity to allow his hands to grab the other's bare hips, pulling him so close their crotches were _just_ barely touching. This simple action caused the short haired blond to grow red, his cheeks flushing a deep colour as his grip on the handle of his case tightened so much that his knuckles went white.

"I-Idiot—"

"Beautiful," Francis said calmly, causing Arthur to lower his head as he turned his gaze elsewhere.

"I told you to stop calling me that," Arthur replied, his chin being lifted up by the other male. Their lips brushed against each other, where Francis had nibbled on his own bottom lip before speaking once more.

"I'm only telling the truth, amour," he clarified in his defence, blue eyes burning a low flame as he gazed into his lover's eyes. Arthur was practically melting – he knew they were now _dating_, but he still couldn't grow used to such affectionate words and intimate gestures. But he had a feeling he ought to get used to it fast because at this rate, Francis might just kill him accidentally with his… touchy-feely agenda and his abundance of affection.

Just like back at the Trocadero fountains, Arthur lowered his head out of embarrassment as Francis pecked him on the forehead. Soon, though, the long haired blond was shoved away by the other, Arthur holding the violin case up to his chest.

"You idiot," he said, frowning in that usual 'tsundere' mode of his, as he was a steaming pile of human at the moment. "I… I'll play for you one day, just not now… It's getting late, we should go to bed."

"Ah, oh yes," Francis replied, smiling gently before taking the case off of Arthur and returning it into the closet where he had found it beneath a pile of clothes. He soon turned back around, having found the Englishman already crawled into bed and getting comfortable, before soon joining him on the side he was usually at. As Francis laid facing towards Arthur's back, he didn't pull him in to spoon as usual. Instead, he simply rested there with his head on his arm that was beneath the pillow. A few minutes of silence had happened, before Arthur had sat up a little to look over his shoulder and frown.

"You're the worst," he mumbled, returning to his initial position before he shuffled his way backwards to get closer to the other… embarrassingly. He was annoyed that Francis decided to humiliate him like that, but Arthur did want to be held. And, so, with a gentle laughter and a "I know" from Francis, the Frenchman slung his arm over the male who was pressed up against him, holding him in a warm embrace. While Arthur's hands would usually just grip his pillow out of nerves, one bravely moved down to hold Francis' hand firmly against his chest.

"Good… night…," he said gently, closing his eyes finally. With slight movement from Francis, the other had pecked him on the cheek, before whispering in return, "Bonne nuit."

* * *

Idle jobs they had done since their first time working together – and they were all about new openings of restaurants or a special birthday or a foundation that was raising money... just little and local things. It was easy on both journalists, yet they had an itch to do something more exciting and… fun. Arthur wanted less desk work seeing as he was literally in his chair all day writing up things – such as features articles, blogs and interviews – that other journalists had retrieved for him . Francis was the only one that got to go out between the two – seeing as he was all about catching the evidence. During his whole time at work, the Frenchman did the usual: pictures, mise on scene, and layout of the magazine. He was the pretty one who did pretty things.

However, before they knew it, two months had already gone past – that included two months of dating. Arthur was content with where they were at, but Francis wasn't. They hadn't even _kissed_ yet. All they did was hold hands – sometimes – hug, cuddle during movies and sleep and go on dates when they had free time. It felt like they were going nowhere… to Francis, of course.

He was currently seated in his cubicle, working on the Photoshop he had opened. He was editing a few pictures for their magazine's blog – on both Tumblr and their actual website. They were popular as _hell_ in France, and they gaining a wider audience from the rest of Europe to other countries like America and Canada all the way to Australia and New Zealand.

Once before, Francis had overheard the editor talking to the manager of the company, speaking of going overseas to these said countries that are currently crazy with their work. Maybe… Francis and Arthur would have a chance to go overseas for a week or two for a job! That was just hopeful thinking though. But if they did, he was almost _certain_ that it'd be either America or Australia. Either way, he didn't mind, because maybe Arthur would be able to catch up with his brothers - Alfred from America and… that Australian boy's name which he had forgotten. He's seen pictures of him though, and he seemed like someone who worked out often. Francis soon began to wonder if that certain brunet was a _defensive_ brother.

"Francis!"

"Ah!" the blond shouted, jumping in his seat out of pure shock, as he turned around to find the editor standing at the entrance of his cubicle. Behind her, in _his_ cubicle, came Arthur rolling backwards in his chair to see what the commotion was about.

"What were you thinking? You were literally sitting there for, like, 5 minutes just staring at your screen," the editor asked, her cleavage bulging _a_ _lot_ as she held a stack of papers and folders in her arms.

"N'a rien," Francis replied, sharing eye contact with the male opposite him for a moment, waving the slightest as Arthur retorted with a smile. That's when the Englishman rolled back forward to focus on his work. In the meanwhile, the editor turned to see who had Francis' attention, before turning her gaze back at the Englishman. He, also turning his gaze back at the editor, soon continued, "Quoi de neuf?"

"What's up is that, well… well, before I tell you, I need to talk to you about something first," she said, taking a few steps in so she was practically _touching_ Francis. "You and Arthur…"

"What about us?" Francis asked, sitting up in his seat, growing the slightest defensive otherwise deciding to stay professional. He and the editor were friends, but she _still_ was his boss, that meant she had authority.

"Well, you two are dating, oui?"

"Oui, pourquoi?"

"I'm just saying, be careful," she warned, her voice but a whisper so Arthur couldn't hear their heated discussion. Francis frowned the slightest, also keeping his voice on the down low, before replying with, "You think Arthur is a threat?"

"Non! That's not what I meant."

"What do you mean then?"

"I'm just… You two are partners, work-wise and relationship-wise. While it must be great, because I wouldn't mind if my dearest was here to work alongside me, it's also… not so great. Every relationship needs personal time, and you two are together practically, well, always," she soon then said, readjusting her grip on the stack of things she was currently holding. Francis, standing up, offered to take it, seeing as it was proving to be a little heavy for her. With thanks, she soon continued, "And just _imagine_ if you two were to soon grow annoyed with each other's company. You could either break up or spend some time apart. Just how well will you two work together as _journalists_ then? There was always a reason why you should never date a patient, client or a co-worker."

Francis was silent then. She did have a point. But, so far, after two months of being together… nothing has really changed. There was still the usual arguing and bickering, making up and joking around, forehead-kisses and cuddles… but that was pretty much it. He guessed he ought to just be careful, like she said. He didn't think they'd break up any time soon, they were happy with each other.

"Oui, I'll keep that in mind," he soon said, smiling a weak smile as he softened his gaze, "Merci."

The editor simply nodded in response. However, her face lit up as if she had just remembered something extremely important, and so she raced to Arthur's cubicle and ordered him to come to her office. With a caught off guard nod, he got up from his spot, and met up with Francis in the pathway between cubicles.

"Hey."

"Salut," Francis had a gentle smile, which then pried the same sort of smile from Arthur. However, after hearing a "come on, love birds" from the editor, they soon turned their attention away from each other and made their way into the coffee-smelling office that belonged to the female.

"Just over here Francis, thanks," she said, patting the surface of her desk where the Frenchman soon placed the stack of papers and folders down. He soon turned back to join Arthur who was standing casually in front of her desk, whilst she went through the papers and retrieved a certain one. "Ah, here."

"What is it?" Arthur asked, the editor turning around to face both males as her eyes scanned the sheet of paper. "Something big, I hope."

"I know how you feel," Francis replied, placing his hands upon his lower back as he stretched forward. "I want to get out of the office; my back is _killing_ me."

"Hey, at least _you_ got to go out sometimes, I've been in here all day every day," Arthur noted, speaking in an 'I have to worse than you' sort of way, as he rolled his shoulders in discomfort. As Francis laughed in response, hazel eyes settled upon the window outside. It was overcast, but it didn't look like it'd rain any time soon – the temperature lately has raised a little, but despite the fact, it was still cold. He wondered when it'd finally get warm enough to stop having to wear coats outside.

"Would you two be okay with going undercover?" the editor asked, gaining both of the male's curiousity. "Oh, what am I saying, you work for me. You'll do it even it makes you uncomfortable."

"Just what _exactly_ do you mean by going undercover?" Francis asked, wanting the woman to clarify what her intentions with the both of them were, "Infiltration?"

She shrugged, nodding the slightest before replying, "Of sorts. No breaking in though, Francis. And no interviews, Arthur."

"Merde," Francis cursed, at the same time his boyfriend had said, "Shit."

"But, hey! Think of it as a challenge," she soon said, lifting her gaze to hand Arthur the piece of paper. "There are a few contacts that'll be at that party tonight, they'll assist you with finding your target. You'll also be accompanied with a van, similar to a news reporter van, that'll record conversations on your little microphones that you attach to your clothing."

"I, uh… don't you think I'm of a wrong gender to do this though?" Arthur asked, Francis leaning over to also read the sheet of paper that had their objective, due date, and what-not on it. "I mean, it says here that it's a ball. The manager said that you need a man and a woman to go, and the last time I checked, I wasn't a woman."

"Why not just go as two men? They're not against that, are they?" Francis added on to the inquiry.

"They're not, but—"

Arthur cut her off, sounding a little scared and even desperate, "B-But what?!"

"_But,_ your target is straight. He's not interested in the idle conversation between different successful companies of this country. He's into women and sex."

"I'm _not_ a woman! Are you telling me to have sex with this man despite the fact!?"

"If she _was_ saying that, I'd make sure to fuck you before the party so _I_ get the first bite—"

"Francis! You're _not_ helping!"

"I'm not saying that!" the editor exclaimed, laughing the slightest due to Arthur's amazing reaction to such misunderstanding. "What I'm saying is that you should get him drunk, bring him back to his room, and ask him questions or even search his stuff. Don't worry; no one will interrupt you two. He always keeps security standing about during his parties, so that'll give you plenty of time."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Francis asked, unfazed by all this, unlike Arthur. "It says that Arthur's supposedly my date that night, so I just allow some old geezer to steal my woman?"

"_Woman!?"_

"Dig up any information you can, Francis, or you can sit out back and stay in tune on their conversation," the editor said, both of them ignoring Arthur's outburst and overwhelming use of swear words. "Sometimes it's always best to have back up when you need it."

"But what happens if Arthur does need it? You said there's security standing about; I won't be able to get to him."

The editor turned around to her desk once more, retrieving a fold up piece of paper and handing it to the long haired blond, before answering his question, "That's the map of the place. I'm sure you can always climb your way into his bedroom from the outside."

"Tch, it's not like you _haven't_ done that before," Arthur then said, breathing heavily from all of his yelling, as he folded his arms over his chest. "B-But that doesn't make me _want_ to do the job!"

"You have to," both Francis and the editor said in unison, before the female picked up from where they left off, "Plus, I already told our contacts that it'd be you and Francis. So, yes, they know you're a male that's going to be undercover as a female. It's not so bad."

"Not so bad?! What if he sexually assaults me?!"

"I'll be there," Francis said.

"What if they found out I'm really a guy then!?"

"We'll be using the best of our makeup artists," the editor said.

"What if I don't find out about the rumour of his company _really_ going into bankruptcy?!"

"I'll also be searching around for answers," Francis said. "He _does_ have an assistant who'll most likely be attending the party. Right?"

"Right," the editor said, before reaching a hand out to gently brush against Arthur's wrist. "I'm sorry for making you do this, but you're our best bet. The other journalists here… they're amateurs. They can't pry information as well as you."

"I'm just…"

"Scared? It's okay to be scared, it's good even," she said, before smiling gently and moving back to her desk, to sit upon the surface of it. "Look, the party isn't until next Saturday, which is in… 9 days, including today. So read over what you're to do, and make a plan for it as well. I trust you two will be able to carry this out."

"Of course, mademoiselle," Francis replied, smiling with confidence. He soon turned his attention towards the half-traumatised Arthur, before reaching down to hold his hand gently. That's when the Englishman snapped out of his state, raising his head to look at Francis with wide eyes. "We're partners, remember? I have your back."

Arthur stayed silent, his heart beating _awfully_ loud in his ears. He could practically feel the blood pumping through his veins as the fear struck his chest. However, that sensation soon disappeared, and he felt fearless.

"I have yours too."

* * *

**A/N: Oh, if only Arthur was a sex machine like Francis. I like to think he's one on the inside, though. If you want smut and is thinking 'when is the fucking going to happen!?' don't worry! It's definitely going to happen! I just like to give reason and preparation into these things!**

**Thank you so much for sticking by me this far and double thank you to everyone who has reviewed! You are all so supportive, and I appreciate that a lot. I couldn't ask for a better bunch of story followers. **

**Again, thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I usually update weekly, if you hadn't noticed, but the reason I took forever to get this chapter published is because I was working on my GerIta oneshot, some personal problems popped up and I had just been super busy with midterm exams. Hopefully I hadn't left you waiting for too long. ^^;**

**Also, just a warning: there's a made up character in this chapter, but he's insignificant and won't pop up in future chapters. He was just around for story's sake.**

**Anyways, now that's done and said, happy reading!**

* * *

It was the night before the party. Arthur laid in bed, almost in a complete foetal position – with his legs slightly drawn up, arms laid out in front of him, soon moving close to his chest as if he were trying to protect the heart that was in there as he breathed heavily with anticipation. He wore a pair of loose track pants and he was left topless as he lay above the bed sheets. The temperature had been getting warmer lately, plus the heater was on, so it was okay to wear less clothing inside.

Francis, who had just come out of the bathroom that was connected to their bedroom, stood by the door where the steam had come from, frowning with slight concern for his lover who had taken such a negative hit on this whole 'undercover' business. Naked, and with just a towel covering his lower body, the Frenchman approached the other, crouching down in front of him as he tilted his head to the side.

"Arthur?" he asked, receiving no response. The other blond didn't even seem to look _at_ Francis, more like through him. He was almost traumatised… or that's what it seemed like. "Arthur, talk to me…"

Again, he received no answer. So, with a sigh, Francis stood up and dropped his towel. That's when he finally got his boyfriend to react.

"Francis!" Arthur shouted – his face going a deep red in colour, sitting up one time as his eyes stayed glued down _there._ However, he soon averted his gaze elsewhere, a hand up to his mouth as steam _literally _rose from his very cheeks that felt like were on _fire, _"W-What the fuck!?"

Soon enough, Arthur's hazel eyes were shifted upwards to look at Francis, when the naked male had pushed him down flat on his back, soon crawling himself into bed so he was situated in between the other's legs, levered above him.

"O-Oh, g-god, Francis—"

"Talk to me," Francis cut him off, the slightly damp locks of his falling around his face almost elegantly. Water droplets that lined the fine hairs of his head gathered at his tips, before it finally fell onto the pillow that Arthur's head was laid upon, just right beside his ear. In this position, everything felt like it was in slow motion for the Englishman, and so he could practically hear the break of water. However, he soon gathered his bearings, and he was terribly caught off guard when the other had so suddenly decided to flash his nakedness.

"P-Put some clothes on—"

"Non," the other cut him off again, before soon lowering himself so his face could be buried into Arthur's bare shoulder. The coolness of the water that was still lining Francis' hair sent shivers down the other blond's spine, and so all Arthur could do in this position was wrap his arms around his boyfriend's torso, as he moved his legs slightly together, so his thighs kept Francis' hips in a stable position. "I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," Arthur mumbled, goose bumps beginning to litter his skin as he could practically _feel_ the lump that was rested against his lower stomach. He was a wreck, but… he felt bad for making Francis worry about him. He always hated that, so he decided he ought to let the other know that he was '_okay_'. If he did, maybe Francis would get off him too, which would prevent Arthur from having a panic attack. "I'm… I'm j-just thinking."

"Thinking about _what_?" Francis asked, moving himself so he could look Arthur directly in the eyes once more. Their noses were just barely touching, and so the tips of Francis' hair caused droplets to fall upon the other's cheeks, but in the end, Arthur didn't seem to mind it.

"About… stuff…," Arthur mumbled once more, before soon shifting his gaze elsewhere, refusing to look at the naked man that was topping him at this moment. "It's nothing, really."

"Why do you have to be so closed-in all the time?" Francis then asked – sitting back with his legs folded beneath him, as his hands reached out to grab the other gently by the thighs. "I don't want to pry, I never do, it's just… you never tell me anything when something's wrong. You always tell me to 'not worry about it' or that I shouldn't be looking after you. Arthur…"

Arthur's eyes narrowed when the other had spoken, his lips thinning into a straight line one time.

"…I care about you, I tell you this a lot but that doesn't seem to change anything," the blond paused, looking away with a slight frown crossing his features. "It's… _frustrating_."

Everything was silent in between the two, and so the Englishman was left speechless. He had never even fathomed that Francis could ever possibly feel this way – so negative upon an action that Arthur deemed selfless. He didn't want to bother him, really. Francis had his own work to do – and maybe even more of it, seeing as he's always moving back and forth between photo opportunities and the office. Arthur didn't want to be his anchor – he _was_ here for work. He was just… lucky, that the two had shared the same feelings towards one another.

"I'm sorry…," Arthur eventually replied, sitting up to wrap his arms around Francis' neck – he had almost completely forgotten that the Frenchman before him was basking in his nakedness. However, Francis soon did respond to such affection as he usually did: by holding the other male gently by his lower back, returning the gesture. Soon, Arthur pulled away, to gaze at his boyfriend with a soft, hesitant gaze. "It's just that I don't want to bother you."

"You're bothering me by _not_ telling me what's on that pretty little mind of yours, idiot," Francis said, laughing one time alongside the other blond as he poked him in the middle of the forehead, before returning to hold him softly. "You're such a pain in the ass sometimes."

"Tch, says you, frog," Arthur replied, scoffing in an 'I'm better than you' sort of way. "If you really want to know, I'm just… intimidated, for tomorrow night."

"I had a feeling you were."

"So why'd you ask?"

"Just clarifying," Francis said in a haughty tone, smiling one time. This caused Arthur to shake his head in disbelief as he gazed off to the side the slightest, avoiding eye contact. "But you shouldn't, you'll be fine! If something happens, I'll be the first one to your side, I pinky promise."

That's when Francis held a hand up, his pinky finger shaped like a hook, making the other blond look at him as if he were a child. It was almost hard to believe that Francis was _actually_ an adult with a full-time job and his own apartment and a partner. He nearly always acted like a 5 year old trapped inside of a 26 year old's body. Here Arthur was, younger by three years, acting more mature. Well, that's at least what he thought – he was just as immature and childish as Francis.

"Fine," he eventually replied, hooking his own pinky around Francis' finger. He shook it once, before Francis had leant back in shock, like something terrible had just happened.

"Shake it you break it!"

"What?"

"Don't shake your hand, Arthur!"

"W-Why not!?"

"The promise will be broken then!"

"Ah, I'm sorry! I never shook it!"

"Yes you did! Do it again!"

"What? Shake it? I'll break it then!"

"No, the promise!"

"Okay, I pinky promise I'll be the first to your side—"

"Arrêter! That's my line!"

"Then fucking say it, frog!"

Francis was unable to form any coherent sentence, so he broke off with laughter, his stomach muscles tight from the amount of amusement that was currently washing over him. Tears welled at the corners of his eyes, reinforcing the thick eyelashes that lined them one time. Arthur, whom was slightly pouting, eventually did smile, before sharing a gentle laughter with the other as they both unhooked their fingers.

"Okay, do it again," Arthur said, getting back on track before soon holding his pinky finger up, Francis hooking it with his own. The Frenchman hadn't said anything then; the two simply shared a soft gaze with one another. However, eventually Francis leant forward, pecking the younger male upon the forehead with a soft, sweet kiss, before finally speaking up once more.

"I pinky promise."

* * *

It was the next day – evening, to be more exact – and Francis and Arthur was seated in the Frenchman's vehicle quietly, like they were waiting for someone or something to give them the signal. Though… they weren't waiting for anything exactly, just for Arthur to calm down and grow less defensive.

"Arthur," Francis said softly, reaching a hand out to softly brush the other's shoulder, like what one does to a newborn deer when not wanting to startle it. However, his hand was soon swatted away, before he was met with a harsh tone.

"_Don't_ you bloody touch me, frog," Arthur said sharply, his breathing heavy – chest that was endowed with fake breasts rising and falling with each pant. "I will _break_ you. Fuck, fuck, fuck… _fuck_…"

"Jesus Christ, Arthur, calm down."

"Calm down!? Easy for you to say! You're not the one that's going in dressed as a _woman!_"

Francis simply sighed in defeat. They had been sitting here – parked outside of the venue of the businessman's, who they were meant to get dirt on, manor – for the past hour or so, with Arthur in hysteria. People have been entering throughout the night, usually those of wealth and status, to attend the party. He could tell alcoholic beverages were being served tonight, because of the loud, drunken slurred cheers that'd frequently sound from inside. It actually… seemed _fun._ So he was a little disappointed that he hadn't had the chance to go in just yet.

But, even if that was the case, he wasn't really too concerned about the party or their job, right now he was focused entirely on Arthur.

"I can't _breathe_, Francis," Arthur whined, his hands going up to cover his face. However, they were soon brought back down to his lap when the other male and pulled them away.

"Don't do that; you'll smudge your makeup," he said, before leaning closer even more so the two could practically _smell_ each other. Of course, this always made Arthur awkward, but he didn't pull away or shove Francis back, instead he leant against him and held his hand tightly as the Frenchman spoke once more. "S'il vous pla_ît, you can trust me."_

"I know I can, I just… can't trust myself," Arthur replied, his hazel eyes glued down at his two hands in his laps, having a death grip on Francis'. He remembered the first time they had sort of held hands – when he had burnt his finger from the very night the two met. Francis took his hand and held it under the tap water to cool it off, and even if that was months ago… he still had such soft, beautiful hands. They were rough, but at the same time they held certain tenderness. In a way, Arthur wanted to feel those hands upon his body; maybe not in a sexual way, but just against his bare skin with gentleness and care. Arthur always believed that Francis' hands were not made to hurt or commit bad things, but to create art and everything beautiful. That's what made him so admirable, he guessed.

So, realising that, he released his grip in fear of hurting such gentle hands, but Francis didn't seem to mind. Instead, he wrapped his free arm around the other's shoulders, so they were practically cuddling.

"It's okay to be scared, Arthur," Francis said gently, the other having turned his head to look at him with large eyes that were lined with black eyeliner and mascara, really showing the colour of his green orbs. After having gone through hours prior of makeup and what-not, he almost couldn't believe that beneath all of that feminine beauty was actually a guy. "Look, just remember our promise, okay?"

"I'm just… scared that I'll fuck up, o-or he'll find out I'm actually a guy…"

"He won't," Francis reassured. "You look absolutely gorgeous; no one could ever fathom your real gender."

Arthur didn't say anything, he simply nodded. However, there was still sign of distress crossing his features and that's when Francis began to wonder just how traumatising this experience must be for him. Although he did tell the other this many times, he swore that he wouldn't let anything happen to him… but he had guessed that it wouldn't be so bad – it was an 'in and out' sort of situation.

"If we work fast, the quicker we're out of here," Francis then said, interlocking his fingers with Arthur's, squeezing softly in a comforting manner. "Let's just go in, do what we need to do, and get out. Just think of this like an interview in a way, except... you're not Arthur Kirkland, alright?"

The Englishman allowed his eyes to flutter close before sighing heavily. He stayed silent for a moment, as if he were meditating or simply calming his nerves down – which seemed most likeable – before he eventually spoke up once more, "Alright, but…," when he went to look at Francis again, he seemed to have changed back into his usual attitude – stubborn, self-assured, a little snobby, and even quite rude, "…you owe me for doing this, frog."

"Anything you want, and it's yours," Francis reassured, having to laugh just how quickly Arthur was able to switch between moods – although, he guessed that the other wasn't completely calm, but at least he wasn't in hysteria anymore. That made him a little more reassured on the inside, seeing as he was concerned for the very man he had fallen for. "Shall we go inside?"

"…oui," Arthur said, taking a deep breath once more, before he had gathered his skirts and opened the vehicle to step outside. Due to wearing a strapless dress, his small shoulders and thin arms were exposed, and the cold air caused him to shiver in response where he immediately began to wish that he was given a cardigan of sorts just for warmth. Then again, it did have something to do with sex appeal that'd get the business guy's attention. "Fra—"

He began, but broke off when he had turned around to face him, the sound of a shutter breaking the almost silent atmosphere. Arthur stared for a moment, before the lens of a familiar Polaroid camera was lowered, a certain Frenchman smiling in triumph as he received the film that soon came out of it.

"B-Bastard!"

"Hm?" Francis asked, shoving the Polaroid camera, alongside the film, into his bag that was seated on the driver's seat of his car, before finally closing the door and locking his vehicle – placing the keys into the pocket of his dress pants.

"Bastard!" Arthur then said once more, his eyebrows creased downwards in annoyance as his already-blushed cheeks went deeper in colour before he approached the other male and smacked him right in the shoulder. "How fucking dare you?!"

"W-What did I do?!"

"You took a picture, you asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"I'm sorry!"

"You always say that, so don't bullshit me!"

"No, I'm being serious," Francis then said, his hands up in an 'I submit' sort of way, before he lowered them, looking down at the male before him. He was taller tonight, simply because he wore dress shoes that had heels on them, lifting his height. Arthur would have worn heels, but the Englishman wasn't able to stay in balance… plus, it made him quite tall as well, and he needed to look less dominating – even though Francis joked multiple times that he was in no way dominant at all anyways. "I just thought it'd be great to capture these moments and make some memories."

"This is one memory I'd want to forget, frog," Arthur mumbled, leaning forward to bury his face into the other's chest as he wrapped his arms around the Frenchman's torso, hugging him tightly. His small, fragile hands gripped the back of his shirt as if he was afraid that Francis would suddenly disappear. Or, really, he just needed the extra comfort before having to face this whole situation alone with only little back up. "I hate you so much for making me do this…"

"I love you too, Arthur."

Arthur bristled. That was the first time he had actually heard those words in conjunction with each other to form a sentence from Francis fucking Bonnefoy. It turned him into a tomato; the heart in his chest beating incredibly fast; palms sweating; breathing shallow. And, yet, unlike the day that Francis had asked him out… it didn't feel wrong. It felt perfect.

"I… I love you too…," he eventually whispered in response, before pulling away so he could look at the very male that was smiling a gentle smile. The way his lips curved were just perfect – it warmed up Arthur so much; made the day a little brighter. He could just cry out of fear for simply being so… besotted. Francis was incredibly flawless; Arthur was still wondering just why the Frenchman could ever want a guy like him – someone so bland and… pathetic.

"You look beautiful as always, Arthur," Francis then said to break the silence between them, as he moved a hand up to brush the long, blond fake locks that fell down the sides of Arthur's face. Due to such expertise on his wardrobe and makeup, everything about Arthur looked so real – as if he were a real woman. And, yet, despite the 'gender change', Francis still saw him as absolutely gorgeous. "You'll be fine in there."

"I know, but I'm chaotic, remember?" Arthur joked, a small smile finally making its way upon his lips, before he cupped both sides of the other's face as he got on his tip-toes, for once giving him his own little kiss upon the forehead. "All I can rely on now is your promise, so I trust you a lot here."

"Don't worry," Francis reassured, biting his bottom lip the slightest, as one hand brushed against Arthur's hips. "I'll be there."

After a friendly punch in the shoulder, it was then that the two was finally able to get to work. Before heading in on inside, Francis had contacted the other journalists that were in the recording van that they were about to finally get going, and so it was okay to activate the small mics he and Arthur were wearing so they could listen in on conversations as well send transmissions for either warnings, questions, and whatever else needed to be said.

Upon entering the manor, hand in hand, both Francis and Arthur were stunned about how… beautiful, the place was. Embedded with expensive painting on the walls, statues fashioned in an orderly manner, light scones illuminating the room as well as the large chandelier in the middle of the ceiling… it definitely was a rich man's party. Though, Arthur also had taken note of how gorgeous everyone was here – with girls in over-the-top dresses and men in classy suits, he felt extremely out of place. But he was a gentleman – well, lady in this case – so he didn't think it'd be so hard to fit in. The people here looked like they were well-educated.

"Arthur, there's your target," Francis mumbled, bringing the Englishman back to reality – he was here for work, not to mingle. "See him up there? The middle-aged man."

Arthur followed to where Francis was subtly pointing, only to find a man dressed in the most sophisticated manner. His dark hair was slicked back with blue eyes that radiated a low flame. His face was sort of… angular. Not a sexy angular like Francis', but a scary sort of angular. That's when the blond decided that he was frightening – definitely intimidating. No wonder he's a – or, well, possibly – a successful business man.

"Yeah, I see him," Arthur replied, unconsciously moving closer to the man who he was currently arm-in-arm with. They made their way across the floor filled with partygoers, the more drunken peoples being much louder than the rest. However, everyone else seemed to have just danced alongside the music, or stuck to the walls and mingled upon one another. Rich parties were so… different.

"He's actually English like you, Arthur," Francis than whispered, a hand upon his ear piece as his free hand pulled the other male in by his hips. Unlike him, but the Englishman had actually noticed the two was receiving looks from the others, and they weren't threatening at all – but neither were they friendly. More like curious or even… intrigued. "From what I'm getting from the others out back, he tends to like his women with accents, but… I'm sure you'll be able to get him in bed. Just keep flirting with him and handing him drinks, alright?"

"Francis?"

"Oui?" Francis lowered his arm, before looking down Arthur with a slight tilt to his head. "What is it?"

"Why can't I hear anything?"

Francis paused, before checking that Arthur had his ear piece – in which he did. The other journalists must have obviously picked that up, because they started transmitting Francis once more.

_"Looks like his isn't working,"_ one of them said, with the sound of shuffling in the background, before she spoke up once more. _"He can't hear us, but we can hear him. That… that should be okay, I think."_

"What do you mean, 'I think?'" Francis then asked, looking around the party and even turning his attention solely towards Arthur afterwards, so it looked like he wasn't speaking to anyone other than the 'woman' he had entered with. "That's no good at all, he needs to know when we're needed to get out of here, or if he needs me—"

_"No,"_ the journalist cut him off, before continuing. _"No, it should be fine. The chances of something happening are low. Plus, we can hear him, which means we'll notify you if he needs assistance. Otherwise, everything's okay, we can keep going."_

Francis lowered his arm angrily, deciding to no longer argue the point. Arthur, who was looking up at him, nudged him in the shoulder to get his attention away from his thoughts and recollection of what the other had said.

"What'd they say?"

"They can hear you, but… they won't be able to talk to you," Francis replied, a hand reaching up to his forehead in an annoyed manner, as protectiveness for the other really began to control him. "And that means they won't be able to tell you what to say."

Arthur was silent for a moment, a little confused as to why the Frenchman had taken this so to heart. However, he soon laughed quietly, shaking his head in dismissal.

"No, Francis, that's okay!" he replied, the blush to his cheeks deepening in colour due to the blood rush. "I know how to interview someone; I don't need them to tell me what to say. Geez, what do you think I am? Some amateur? Pfft, amateur my arse."

"Hey, no need to get cocky, sunshine," Francis replied, a smirk having made his way across his lips due to such disclaimer from the other. "That's not proper lady manners."

That's when the challenging smirk from Arthur had disappeared, it changing to a look that spoke 'I'll kill you'. However, before the two could even continue their conversation, someone had approached them and tapped Francis on the shoulder to gain their attention.

"Oh, you're… Francis Bonnefoy, aren't you? From _Le Couer_?" A young man had asked, his brown eyes sparkling such a light colour in the atmosphere that they almost seemed golden. "I've seen your works, you're amazing!"

Francis smiled falsely, waving his hand in a dismissal manner, as they began to speak amongst themselves quietly. Arthur had stood in silence, watching the stranger, and deciding that his accent wasn't of English dialect. He wondered what part of the world he came from, seeing as this party was made out to be extremely multicultural. Though, approaching someone in France and speaking in English first… he obviously was one of those 'oblivious' sort of tourists. That or he simply hadn't been in France for long.

"I actually only transferred here not long ago," the stranger said, a hand reaching up to play with his brown, almost auburn locks, as a wide smile stayed accustomed to his face. "Working under the boss upstairs—" he pointed to the very man that the two had been meaning to get information from, and so it was then that Francis and Arthur had begun to listen more contently, "—I was actually very honoured to have been given the position!"

"So… are you his assistant, or something?" Francis asked, having put on his charm – the one that spoke 'I'm completely interested' and 'Please, do go on'… although, he was simply prying information. Arthur had guessed it was one of his main points, though: that charm. "I believe that'd be a wonderful position to be in."

"It is! He's a little moody some days, especially lately since—oh, well, I can't really tell…," the young man had laughed nervously, lowering his hand one time. "Wow, I can't believe just how many famous people he's able to get to attend his party. Amazing photographers, artists, musicians, extremely wealthy company owners—"

"Does he… like company, boy?" Arthur asked, gaining the attention of the assistant, before the brunet had replied, "I'm not a boy," he said quite snootily, as if being an adult meant he had authority. "I'm 19."

"My apologies," the Englishman replied, having bit down on his bottom lip for an effect. However, the lip-biting seemed to have only affected Francis, as the Frenchman narrowed his gaze almost hungrily. "I'll be sure to speak with him, I absolutely adore the man."

That's when Francis gaze turned sour, as if he was jealous. But, the assistant simply turned his attention back to the Frenchman to speak excitedly once more, and it was then that he was offered some drinks so they could sit back and have a good time. Prying information was a breeze for Francis, especially when someone on the other side was feeding him lines. Plus, it had given him the opportunity to take some pictures of the party – seeing as he was renowned as a photographer – just in case they needed it.

Arthur took the initiative to make his way upstairs, having to gather the skirts of his dress and hold it up, so he wouldn't trip over them. He was glad he didn't end up wearing heels; otherwise this would have been 100 times harder.

As he made it to the top, a server had been passing, and so he quickly nipped two alcoholic beverages in fancy-looking glasses, before making his way over towards the company-owner. Although he was in the midway of a conversation with some other middle-aged looking men, the owner simply looked… bored, and so Arthur thought that it wouldn't be too hard to get his undivided attention.

"Good evening," the Englishman said in a gentle tone, trying to make himself come off as womanly as possible. He had gained the attention of the men, before the owner had smirked in an interested manner.

"Are you here to speak of business?" he asked, having leant against the railing of the second floor balcony, as if he were expecting a 'no'. His smirk, however, had only widened when he took the drink Arthur held out to him, before he waved his hand in a dismissal manner, the other men having departed. "I take that as a no."

"Smart man," Arthur replied, that same feeling from before – when he was in the car with Francis – suddenly flooding his body once more. He felt nervous under this man's gaze, but… having taken a deep breath, and a short sip of his beverage, Arthur forced himself to calm down and make conversation with this fucking target of his. "I was lonely, and I didn't think you enjoyed the company of businessmen, so I thought maybe you could accompany me tonight."

The other didn't say anything after that – he simply allowed his gaze to intensify as he watched Arthur, it being painstakingly obvious that he had a thing for younger women. The Englishman almost felt sorry that the other guy thought he was going to get laid tonight, when in reality he was being lead on by a man.

"Well then, let's have a few drinks, shall we?" the company owner finally suggested, before holding his hand out for a handshake. "I'm George Westerfield."

Arthur took his hand, a little put off by such lame flirting. However, he still kept up his act, and smiled sweetly.

"Call me Alice," he replied, before his hand was brought up to Westerfield's mouth, where his flesh was met with a soft peck. Arthur almost died on the inside then – with disgust, seeing as he didn't exactly have a thing for old men – but he simply laughed gently, and womanly, as he turned his gaze to the lower floor, only to find Francis arm-in-arm with that assistant, laughing and drinking away with some other partygoers. They were so… loud.

Even though Arthur knew this act was all false, he felt somewhat jealous seeing Francis with someone else other than him. But, when he turned away due to the owner engaging him once more, that's when Francis had looked up at him – feeling the same negative, yet positive, sensation of jealously. However, there was nothing the two could do seeing as they were on the job and so they soon forgot about those personal feelings and continued on with their goals.

For the next hour or so, Arthur and Westerfield had taken the initiative to take a seat at the lounge, with a nearby woman doing some moonlighting and serving drinks behind the bar. The whole time the two had mingled and simply made conversation, obviously flirting too by subtle leg touches and compliments, Arthur was actually able to get the other man a little tipsy. He had taken a few shots, too, but otherwise fed the other with his own drinks instead. At least he was sober and able to navigate what he's supposed to do.

"What's a beautiful woman like you attending a party alone, anyways…?" Westerfield had asked, placing the empty glass of beer down, before he pulled the other in by the hips and planted a soft kiss upon his neck. This immediately made shivers run down Arthur's spine, and he almost felt the urge to punch him right in the stomach and storm out, but it was then that he remembered… he was on the job, here.

So, taking in a deep breath, he replied as calmly as he could, "I told you earlier, didn't I? I absolutely adore you, so I thought maybe the two of us… could…"

"Take this to my bedroom for some more private matters?" the man asked, leaning back from ravishing Arthur's neck, to gaze at him in a drunken manner. He was completely horny, it wasn't hard to tell, and that was… fucking disgusting, for Arthur. "Maybe we could get to know each other more."

"You know what really turns me on, Westerfield?"

"Mm…," Westerfield hummed, biting his bottom lip. "What?"

"Secrets," Arthur whispered, leaning closer so the red of his lips were planted right up against the other's ear. "I love it when the most deepest and darkest secrets are told…"

"Does that get you wet…?"

"_Very_ wet," the Englishman leant back so he trace his tongue along his top lip, before standing up and holding a hand out for the other to grab. Westerfield had grabbed it, standing up alongside the other, as he leant against him for some support. "You tell me your secrets, and I'll tell you mine… It'll be like a mystery…"

The businessman had simply nodded and laughed eagerly, before he took Arthur hand-in-hand and began making his way out of the lounge room, which was filled with other partygoers, and through the halls to his bedroom. There, stood a security guard – Arthur had noticed there were a couple of these men standing about – just outside of the bedroom, and he stood aside to allow the two in. That's when the Englishman swallowed the lump at the back of his throat; Francis wouldn't be able to get in so easily. But… this guy was drunk; he shouldn't be so hard to fight off. Plus, he was old.

When the two had entered, Arthur was so succumbed into his surroundings that he hadn't noticed Westerfield leave his side. The room was huge; quite typical of such a manor. With a large, king-sized bed in the middle, there were bookshelves that lined a wall embellished with trophies, paintings, or simple décor. Plants were at the corners of the room, and just like the main hall, there were statues that were perfectly carved into busts. It was beautiful, but… expensive. The Englishman definitely felt out of place, simply because it didn't feel so cosy like Francis' room. Francis' room was messy, but neat in a way, small-ish, had that wonderful aroma of roses, and wasn't so spaced out. It was warm.

"Here," Westerfield suddenly said, causing Arthur to jump a little as he turned to find the middle-aged man with two glasses in his hands, the smell of champagne coming from then. With a "thank you" Arthur took it and soon downed a sip, before placing the glass down on one of the empty shelves that lined the walls. "I decided on a new rule: with each secret, an item of clothing comes off."

Arthur stared as the other made his way to the edge of the bed, folding one leg over the other. He leant back a little, as if he were posing to look arousing. That was suddenly the time he had thought of Francis in that position, and it made him blush for thinking of such inappropriate thoughts like this. It was then that he suddenly remembered he was engaged.

"Well… that's no fair, I'm only wearing two items of clothing…," he replied, before placing a hand upon his hip and moving so he stood in front of the businessman, looking down at him with sharp, green eyes as a dominant, yet alluring, smirk made its way across his red-lipstick stained lips, "My dress and underwear."

"Jewellery included, then," Westerfield then said to negotiate, looking up at the other with drunken, yet eager blue eyes. "But I want to take your items off."

"Deal," Arthur said immediately, having decided that he ought to pry information before his dress or anything else would have to come off – that'll just cause uproar, "Well then, ladies first."

He moved to pace the room for a moment, before holding his hand out, having Westerfield sit up and remove the bracelet that was there. That's when the business soon tossed it aside, Arthur then eventually speaking up, "I've never told anyone this before, but… I love a little S&M during sexual activity."

Suddenly, Westerfield's attention was perked, and he seemed much more alert – and that's when Arthur had realised that he said the right thing. That would definitely get the other to spill.

"Same, actually…," he whispered in return, before Arthur had stepped back when the businessman grabbed his waist hurriedly, the blond having waved his index finger in a 'no-touchy' sort of way.

"You can't just copy my secrets, Westerfield."

"But it's true."

"I know," he said, smirking, before waving his hand in dismissal. "But tell me something more explicit. There is a reason I have a thing for businessmen."

"Hm, don't tell anyone, but…," Westerfield began, Arthur approaching him and pushing him gently down on his back, before being held up just above him, "…my sales decreased and my shareholders backed out."

"Oh, what does that mean…? I'm intrigued…," Arthur whispered, leaning down to peck the other gently on the neck, immediately regretting the decision as he didn't like the taste of him upon his lips. Plus, it felt so… wrong. And all he could think about was _Francis, Francis, Francis_.

"My company is going to bankruptcy, which is why so many people have been sacked… I'm practically broke…"

That's all Arthur needed, just verbal evidence. All he had to do now was just make an excuse and leave – easy as pie.

"_Naughty_…," he whispered, trying to pull away but being unable to do so when the businessman had pulled him back down on top of him, continuing to plant kisses along the bare of his shoulder and collarbone. That's when the Englishman pulled away more, trying as hard as he could to seem calm about this whole situation. "I… I, uh, it's a little late, Westerfield, it's time for me to go—"

"No… don't go, just stay for a while…"

His kisses were getting rougher and his hands had become more daring, running over the roundness of Arthur's ass. That's when more shivers ran down the Englishman's spine, and so the blond soon forcefully pulled away, so he was standing above him once more. Pulling up his dress a little, his eyebrows were furrowed greatly, as he fixed his 'hair'.

"I need to go," he said sternly, turning around on his heels as he made his way towards the door. "Good luck with your bankruptcy, sir."

Just as he held a hand out to grab at the handle, Arthur was pushed up against the door with a loud bang. There was compression from behind him, as the necklace around his neck fastened, knowing that Westerfield had grabbed at it and pulled. It was then that the blond found it hard to breathe, and he instinctively drove his elbow back to get the businessman right in the stomach. Luckily, he did, and so Westerfield pulled back with a loud grunt of pain, only dragging the necklace one time which caused Arthur to gasp loudly.

"_Bitch_," Westerfield cursed, as Arthur whined in desperation from the lack of airway. "You _fucking_ bitch."

"I can't—can't breathe, W-Westerfield—" he broke off with a cough, the constriction around his throat tightening as his hands reached behind him to grab the assailant, but the other kept his space so he was out of range to get hit once again. That's when the tears began to well up at Arthur's green orbs, so close to the door, yet so far of actually just getting out of there. "A-Asshole, I can't—"

"Did you seriously think you can just lead me on like that? You fucking ungrateful whore," Westerfield said sternly, and in a drunken slur. Arthur was almost shocked about how fast his mood changed from 'gentleman' to 'asshole'. "I'm getting what I want, before you're leaving, bitch."

"S-Stop—" Arthur began, his breath intake now just small gasps, before he broke off as he was soon discarded onto the floor with a loud bang, his knees and the palms of his hands scraping along the wooden floor painfully. The Englishman was unable to get up at that point, as his hands flew to his neck to sooth it, taking in deep breaths of air as the constriction finally disappeared. However, he wasn't even able to fully recover from the overwhelming shock of being assaulted, when a hand gripped his bicep tightly and pulled him up onto his feet.

"Get up," the other cursed, before slapping Arthur right across the face, seeing as he was crying out loud and still gasping for air. The Englishman went silent then, a red mark soon showing up on his cheeks as he snapped his head back to look at the businessman with wide, taken back eyes. "Now listen to me, take off your fucking clothes otherwise I'm taking them off myself."

"N-No! Get the fuck off me!" Arthur screamed, before attempting to pull away, however Westerfield had simply tightened his grip and held on tightly. It was then that the Englishman had pulled his free arm back before soon slugging the business right across the jaw, a loud bang sounding in the meantime. "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"Who the fuck do you think _YOU_ are?!" Westerfield asked in retaliation, before he had repeated Arthur's actions and smacked him right in the jaw. The Englishman, being smaller and much more petit in size, was knocked off of his feet due to the force, and met the floor once more. His lip had split one time and soon blood trickled down his chin, but he ignored the salty taste when the businessman had grabbed his legs and pulled him closer.

"Get off me!" Arthur screamed – kicking his legs as one hand kept his dress covering his sex. The reason he didn't want to show that he was a guy, was simply fear of the man before him. He didn't think Westerfield would abuse him as much if he kept him thinking that he was a woman. But, pure anger would soon drive him if he finally realised that Arthur, well… had a dick in between his legs. That would probably cause manslaughter, and the Englishman already feared his wellbeing. He just wished Francis would burst through the door and kick the businessman off of him. Arthur was terrified. Businessmen were the worst – spoilt, arrogant and definitely sadistic.

* * *

Francis was amongst many of the partygoers, already having gained some information from the assistant, he was simply waiting around for the journalists to tell him that Arthur had gotten what he needed, and it was them they got out of there. But, he was met with his greatest nightmare, as he was transmitted news that made the blood in his veins boil.

_ "Arthur's in trouble,"_ the woman on the other side said, panic beginning to drive her very motives. _"T-The company owner is very drunk, and he won't let Arthur go. He's… he's hitting him, Francis! Please, go get to him! All we can hear on the other side is Arthur crying—oh my god, Francis—"_

Francis hadn't even replied to the woman, he simply placed his glass of champagne down before splitting from the group of people he was with. He was infuriated. Rarely does he get super pissed, but right now… he felt like he could just kill someone. Literally skin them alive, or shove rocks down their throat and watch them choke on it. Well, that's what he wanted to do to the fucking company owner.

Before he even got to the staircase that lead to Arthur, however, screams erupted from groups of people upstairs, and that's when he saw fire eating its way up the extremely flammable furniture items. Due to what the journalist on the other side was telling him, it seemed that someone was being careless and decided that alcohol and naked flame made the best of friends. Putain. That only made it harder to get to Arthur now. But that didn't stop him. Instead, he sprinted his way through the rushing crowds of people, not once stopping for anything – even when fire had burnt at his arms and left red marks there, or even scorching his clothing. Eventually, though – after evading the fire eating at the wooden walls and furniture – he got to where he needed to go, but was soon stopped.

"Let me through," Francis demanded, the guy that was guarding the bedroom door narrowing his eyes in a challenging manner, as his lips thinned into a straight line. "Move aside."

"Sorry, this area's restricted," the security guard said. "If you want to speak to Mr Westerfield, he's currently busy. See him another time."

"There's a fire in here and they need you," the Frenchman then said. Although Francis should fear his safety due to the rapid spread of this fire and the desperate screams from the people attending the party, he didn't… instead, he felt calm, even though an angry passion drove him. "I'm here to collect Mr Westerfield—"

"Shit," the security guard cursed, having seen the angry flame burst from the stairs, before turning around and opening the door of Westerfield's bedroom. That's when the two found Arthur on the floor with a busted lip and a red line around his neck. He had bruises marking his shoulders and his arms, and his dress was torn as if there was a tug of war between it. Westerfield was above him, before Arthur had used the distraction of the door opening to punch him for the fourth or fifth time tonight. This caused the businessman to get even angrier, about to lash out at the 'woman' beneath him, before Francis had raced in and drove his foot into the other's face – kicking him off of Arthur and knocking him out cold.

The security guard hadn't said anything due to such assault or even considered the wellbeing of Arthur. Instead, he hauled Westerfield up and over his shoulders, before quickly making his way out of the bedroom and soon outside of the building before the fire had gotten too out of control.

"Shit, Arthur," Francis said, his voice a little shaky due to such a brash action of attack someone so… violently. But, he soon crouched down beside the other, hating himself for being unable to check up on him as he lifted him up so he was standing once more. "Are you okay? Putain… I'm so sorry, Arthur—désolé."

Arthur was crying, and he held onto Francis tightly, obviously shaken up and even traumatised with the whole ordeal and this plan backfiring a little. However, the two was broken from their embrace, when a loud bang sounded – a wooden plank from the ceiling in the hallway falling, it being lit with fire as they were practically trapped now.

"Shit! Shit! What the fuck happened?!" Arthur screamed, only just noticing the quickly-spreading fire, before his attention was taken away to instead watch Francis make his way to the large window.

"We can get out here," Francis said, opening the glass panes up to look out and take note of the water pipes and all the little indents and sills he could use as a means of climbing down to the floor. "We can climb down the wall, it's easy; we just have to be quick."

"I can't do that!" Arthur yelled in response, just as Francis began making his way out. "I'm in a dress—Francis! Don't leave me, please!"

More bangs were sounded from behind him, and he turned momentarily to only found that the fire had made his way into the room, soon catching the bookshelves and cupboards that were about. When he turned his attention back to Francis, the Frenchman had already made his way to ground floor, and he soon held his arms out as if he were ready to catch something.

"Jump, Arthur!" Francis yelled. "I'll catch you!"

"Oh fuck no!" Arthur screamed back, but soon flinched when fire spat angrily at him. He was shaking on the inside, and all fear began to take over. He was terrified. He felt like he was going to die. It had gotten to a point that Arthur didn't even feel like he was there anymore. He just felt like he was watching his body from above, watching it all happen to him. Everything was silent; in slow motion. He was terrified.

"Arthur, s'il vous plaît, jump!"

Even though he was a wreck, Arthur knew he had to go now, otherwise he was done for. He had to trust Francis. He just had to.

And, so, after gathering all of courage Arthur had leapt out of the window, feeling a rush of adrenaline quickly take over him as he held his hands up to his chest – not even screaming. Instead, he closed his eyes, and allowed fate to take its course.

Arthur didn't want to die.

* * *

**A/N: Was this my first cliffhanger? Maybe... I think. o-o **

**A****nyways, I was at a loss with this chapter. I knew what I wanted, but... _blaaah_... I've just been so uninspired lately. Hopefully I didn't bore you.**

**Despite that, thanks for reading! Each and every one of you just make me so happy. :~)**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Another warning for another chapter: I wrote the start of this when I was feeling extremely down in the dumps, so it's a little dark! In fact, I had even started on this chapter before I completed the previous one, so if things don't add up – let's just ignore that, shall we?**

**Thanks and happy reading!**

* * *

"Does it hurt?"

Arthur nodded his head in silence, his hazel eyes staring off into the distance - similar to the time when he wasn't talking to Francis the night before the party. He looked… broken. Like he had seen hell with his very own eyes, but instead of feeling scared, he just felt monotone. It was as if all the energy inside of him had drained due to screaming his lungs out as salty tears ran down his cheeks; thrashing about in hopelessness as his heart beat a million miles per second. He was just… done, finished. He was through.

Francis' blue eyes were narrowed, his own wounds covering his skin. Unlike Arthur, who had scratches and bruises from trying to escape, he had burn marks and scars from trying to get to him on time. The Frenchman almost felt the same as his boyfriend; he was just less… grey. His heart was heavy and his lungs were tight, but he felt a fire still going on inside of him – fuelling him to just keep moving, to keep being.

"I'm sorry…," he whispered, his voice like a light in the darkness – small but… loud. At least, that's what it was like to Arthur. To the Englishman, everything was just blocked out of his mind; all he could recall was the events that had happened. Due to such recollection, one side of him just wanted Francis to grab him once more and kiss him silly, but the other side of him just didn't want to be touched so gently and innocently by _anyone._ It was as if he just needed an outlet, to let all of his grey and monotone feelings out of him by something… something like euphoria. In other words, Arthur wanted rough sex to rid of his dull feelings; to make him forget.

He's felt like this multiple times in the past, but he usually just touched himself in the most embarrassing manner, or smoked the night away. However, this time, he actually has a partner – a partner he's known that, for a long time, wanted to _feel_ more. Arthur was just practically giving up his body here.

But, then again, it wasn't only that reason why he wanted to have sex, but for the very reason that he wanted to feel less… disgusted, by his body. To be touched and felt and looked at by the person he was in love with, not by someone who he despised.

"Fuck me," the Englishman eventually said after regaining his thoughts, turning his head to finally make eye contact with the very male who had been seated next to him on the bed, rubbing at his leg gently in a comforting manner. His green eyes were less… green. They seemed so lifeless to Francis, and that _frightened_ him. "Let's have sex."

"Yeah, right, with you in this state? I think not," Francis replied, before reaching a hand up to brush some of Arthur's hair behind his ear, but the Englishman had retaliated by grabbing the other's hand to instead guide it to his zipper. That's when Francis had noted that the other had _completely_ lost it. If Arthur had been so suggestive a few days ago when he was fine, Francis would have went along with it _very_ eagerly. But… he knew now wasn't the time to be so horny.

"Why?" Arthur asked, shuffling a little closer to the other, catching Francis off guard when he had pecked him on the lips shamelessly. He went in for another kiss, but the Frenchman had leant back so he was out of range, before placing his hands upon the other's waist and pushing back against him gently.

"Because that's called 'taking advantage', Arthur," Francis said sternly, a gasp having left his lips when his boyfriend forcefully pushed him onto his back, before rolling over so he was straddling his hips. The Frenchman had to hesitate for a moment, his hands still holding Arthur by the waist, but he finally was brought back down to earth when he felt lips upon his neck and the grinding of hips. "A-Arthur, get off of me."

His demand had fallen upon deaf ears when Arthur ignored him – continuing to move against the male beneath him as he planted kisses along the pale column of Francis' neck. The Frenchman, although gradually getting more and more turned on due to such an action, pushed back against Arthur so hard that the other was forced to roll off to the side. That's when Francis took the opportunity to stand up and get away from his completely insane boyfriend.

"You _need_ to stop," he said, straightening up his shirt as he turned to look down at the other whom was in a miserable heap on the bed. "Why are you forcing yourself to do this?"

"I'm not forcing myself, that's just the thing!" Arthur suddenly yelled back, having shot his head up to look at the other standing at the end of the bed with tears beginning to well at his puffy red eyes. He looked… like a mess. His hair was messy and all over the place; there were bags beneath his eyes due to excessive hours of sobbing, his lip was busted and marked red and he had bruises along his jawline. Francis just felt like the worst being in the world for allowing this to happen.

"You're forcing _me _though, aren't you?" Francis then asked, folding his arms over his chest in an orderly manner to come off as mature as possible. He hated it very much, but he had to scold Arthur. Even though all he wanted to do was just hold him until he fell asleep, he had to be stern first. "Why would you do the same thing that the company owner did to you, to me?"

"Are you fucking _kidding_ me, Francis?" The Englishman replied rhetorically, his eyes narrowing as a sharp facial expression crossed his features – one that spoke 'how dare you'. "I'm not hitting you, am I? Don't act like you have any fucking idea how it feels to be forced into doing shit when you don't want to! Why do you have to act like you know everything?! You're such a dick!"

Arthur was crying again at this point. His hands reached up to his face as he hunched his shoulders, left to sob heavily as he was seated at the edge of the bed. Francis didn't grow soft, though, he simply retaliated with what he deemed reality.

"I admit, Arthur, I have no idea how it feels like to be you at the moment," Francis replied, his voice loud so it could be heard over the other's crying. "But what I _do_ know, is that in such sorrowful times, the only thing that runs through your mind is sex. Sex, sex, sex. Because it feels good, doesn't it? But it gets addicting, so it turns out to be more harmful than healthy!"

"I don't just want sex because I'm sad, Francis!" Arthur yelled back, removing his hands from his face to look at the other with tear-stained cheeks; trembling lips; hurt eyes. "I just… I've never… I…," he broke off for a moment, looking down at the hands in his laps as if he were at a loss – like he didn't know what to say, what to do, what to feel. Eventually, he found his words once more, "I… want to feel okay with my body… to be handled gently and just… I don't want this whole sexual business to be traumatising for me in the future, Francis… I want it to be a good experience, b-because I've never…"

He didn't finish that sentence. Instead, he brought his arms up to shield his face instead as a few more sobs sounded from him, it really having become a usual sound for Francis to hear. He hated it, though. He preferred Arthur laughing or yelling profanity over _this._ He just sounded so broken, and that shattered Francis' heart.

But, he tried to ignore that weight on his chest, and instead focus on what Arthur was so passionate about.

* * *

_"__Arthur, s'il vous _pla_ît, jump!"_

Arthur was freefalling at this point. The torn fabric of his dress came up lazily, the friction of the wind that was like turbulence around him encouraging to grow closer and closer to ground floor. The fake locks that fell around his shoulders were blurring his vision if he ever were to open up his green eyes, but he didn't – he was too scared of what he'll see.

Suddenly, though, that feeling of complete freedom and weightlessness ended abruptly when a sharp pain shot through his whole body. With a loud groan of pain from him and the man beneath him, he and Francis had fallen to the floor in a huge heap. Dirt covered them now, scratches lined the bare parts of their skin, and they were both left breathless due to such impact. However, even though he practically felt no energy since it was whacked out of him – which rendered him winded – Francis held onto Arthur tightly, who was on him and holding on with just as much security.

Francis felt… dizzy. He did hit his head quite hard, but he stayed conscious for the time-being. He wanted to make sure Arthur was okay, anyways. That's all that mattered to him.

"I'm… I'm so sorry…," Arthur mumbled, both males having ignored the background noise that consisted of frantic shouts of people still leaving the building, sirens of emergency services arriving, news reporters yelling at their cameramen to hurry up and film this mess. "T-Thank you, Francis… are you… are you okay?"

That's when Arthur used the little energy left in his arms to lever himself above the man beneath him, staring into such deep blue eyes. Tears were still welling at his, and a single drop of salty liquid had fallen and landed onto Francis' stained cheek, wiping away some of the brown dirt that contrasted against such beautiful pink skin.

"I'm okay," Francis replied, smiling weakly, like he was relieved that he was finally with Arthur again, that they were out of that danger… even if pain throbbed through their bodies each passing minute. In a way, he was relieved though, and that was one of the most amazing feelings in the world to him. "Are you okay?" He paused for a moment, taking in a deep breath as he closed his eyes momentarily, before opening them once more, "What am I saying? Of course you're not. I-I'm so sorry this happened, Arthur. I should have listened to you and chose an alternative plan rather than—"

Suddenly, he was cut off when lips met his. That's when everything around them seemed to have slowed down. Francis didn't ever think their first kiss would end up like this, but… he didn't mind. It turned out to be perfect; it felt perfect. It was such a beautiful sensation, like Arthur's lips were in perfect conjunction with this – exact pieces to a worn down puzzle. So, allowing himself to melt away into the bliss, he closed his eyes slowly, moving his hands around to hold the other gently by his lower back.

Arthur, in the meanwhile, felt breathless… but it didn't hurt like when his necklace was fastened around his throat. Instead, it seemed spiritually healing. He felt so refreshed on the inside like every bad thing he's done in the pass was redeemed. Why did he feel so… scared, to kiss Francis this whole time? It was an amazing abundance of bliss, and he felt so calm on the inside despite what happened prior – the assault, jumping out of a window, landing in a heap. Maybe he was intimidated that he'd lose himself, like he did just now. But, he didn't care about that in the end. Right now, all he wanted to just kiss and kiss and kiss Francis and to retrieve each and every one of them back.

His thoughts were gathered and he was met with reality once more when the need to breathe poked at his lungs, and so he pulled away the slightest – his lips still brushing with Francis'. With his eyes closed, he felt Francis move beneath him, as he was met with a few more pecks. As Arthur returned them, he soon moved to lean down and kiss Francis' upon the neck, before burying his face there as those previous feelings of fear and sorrow began to finally catch up with him.

"I… I love you, Francis…," he stuttered in between sobs, cold liquid meeting Francis' flesh as more tears came. Francis rolled him over, so he was on bottom, before pulling him up into his lap and holding him in a gentle, yet secure, embrace.

"I love you too, Arthur," the Frenchman replied, leaning up momentarily to peck Arthur upon the forehead, before brushing his lips against the other's bare shoulders softly, "Je t'aime aussi."

Over the course of time they held each other, Arthur's crying eventually quietened down, Francis having let him get everything out of his system as he imagined that the other probably needed it. And, so, they soon sat there, holding each other in a quiet embrace, all before Arthur leant back so he could look at the man that he was currently clinging to as if he was the answer to life.

"I'm disgusting," he said, causing Francis' eyebrows to crease downwards in annoyance. "I'm… feral."

"You're not," Francis replied, his hard and slightly angry expression changing into one of kindness and something that seemed like admiration. That look was enough to send chills down Arthur's spine, and yet the blond still felt less than worthy. "You look down on yourself so much when you're such a gem, Arthur. Why?"

"I feel disgusting – tainted and just… dirty…," Arthur then clarified, leaning down the slightest so his forehead was rested against Francis' shoulder in a defeated manner. "…I don't feel right, I feel sick… I want to throw up…"

Francis didn't say anything after that. All he did was run his hands up and down the other's back in a soothing manner, to show that he wasn't alone – to make him feel like he had someone… because, in reality, he did.

"He touched me so… disgustingly…," Arthur continued to Francis' surprise, his voice but a whisper that barely reached the Frenchman's ears… but it did. "Only… only you can, Francis… he… kissed my neck and just… just…"

The hands that were placed upon Francis' back tightened its grip on the fabric of his shirt, scrunching it up in their fists like they owner of said hands were afraid they'd fall or they'd lose their anchor. Arthur didn't cry or sob, he just sat there in the other blond's embrace.

"I'm… yuck," the short-haired male then finally said after a moment of silence, the strain in his voice that hinted he was on the edge from breaking down once more finally disappearing, being left monotone and just… grey. "Disgusting, so disgusting… I can't…"

"You're beautiful, Arthur," Francis said, speaking up for once as he grew sick of hearing Arthur hate on himself so much. Surely, the blond had flaws, but so did everyone else. But that's what made him perfect and so human, so… real, so beautiful. "I know I say this nearly every day, whether I'm simply glancing at you or stealing a picture of that face of yours, but you're beautiful. Inside and out, and because of that, I fear my sanity every moment you're around because I'm so deeply in love with you, Arthur. As crazy as it sounds, I've never met anyone so…," he broke off for a moment, trying to find the word that could describe Arthur in one word. Instead, he found many, so he allowed his tongue to just move on its own as a string of words came instead, "…so capable of making me lose control of myself. I never used to be so… soft, I guess. I used to see the world in a dull way. Because of that, I did things with strangers that people should only do with a significant other. But then I met you, Arthur. And it was then that I decided there was nothing more beautiful in the world, because… everything about you is just so… so captivating. I'm in love with you, Arthur. You're beautiful, so very beautiful...," Francis broke off once more to lean back and cup the sides of the other's face, who had tears streaming down his face as he broke off into silent cry, before kissing him ever so sweetly on the forehead as per usual, "…you're beautiful, please don't forget that. Je t'aime, Arthur. Tu as de beaux yeux; j'aime ton sourire... Je me sens bien avec toi…"

"You idiot…," Arthur half-laughed, half-sobbed – tears staining his cheeks, yet a slight smile upon his lips. "You know I don't understand French fluently: I only know simple stuff, idiot…"

Francis was the one to laugh tiredly then, as the deep and heavy atmosphere around both males lightened up a little. It was then that they sat in each other's embrace for a few more moments, Arthur having felt a little better due to such an embarrassing confession with his significant other. However, despite that, as the time passed he did begin to feel so… disgusting, again. It was as if his thoughts of self-hate and Westerfield stuck to him, like chewing gum to the bottom of someone's shoe. He just couldn't… run away from it.

Francis didn't notice he still felt like that, though. In fact, he didn't even realise or comprehend that it had become such a negative thing for Arthur. He thought _he was okay._

But, the truth was… Arthur was far from okay. He felt disgusting.

* * *

After that recollection, Francis folded his arms over his chest – blue eyes glued onto the male before him who was trying to hold himself together, blond hair falling out of its red ribbon, eyebrows creased downwards as his train of thought became more and more intensifying.

After Francis reported his idea of how the fire started, although many times he said he wasn't exactly _there_ to witness it, and even reported the sexual assault of Westerfield – that, in the end, was dismissed simply because it was 'unimportant as of now' and was an 'provoked attacked' – the two was finally able to head home in the extremely early hours of the morning. It was then that Arthur was given the opportunity to shower and clean up, before dressing himself in long clothing as if he was trying to hide away his body. It was also then that Francis was given the opportunity to scarcely do the same, before trying to communicate with his boyfriend who had become so… _broody._

He didn't know what to do now. He was… lost. He felt like crying now, in all honestly. But _he_ wasn't the one that was so hurt. He just had to make Arthur happy again; make him not be so scarred about… _sex – _it should be a beautiful and wonderful experience.

"Arthur…," Francis said quietly as he waited for a few moments, the blond before him wiping away his tears with the back of his hand before looking up at him. He had bags beneath his eyes that were red and puffy; his lips were _too_ dried out; his skin was pale. He looked so… broken. _But Francis will fix that. _"I'm sorry, I... didn't realise…"

Francis looked away, looking obviously troubled. However, after some inner hating of himself, Arthur soon stood up and approached him, only to hug him tightly.

"You never realise anything, idiot," Arthur mumbled, the damp spots of Francis' shirt – from the blond's tears prior, obviously – cool against the Englishman's burning cheeks. "You're oblivious and a hopeless romantic… it's like you're out of touch with reality…"

"I could say the same to you, Arthur," Francis replied, his hands finally moving to his hold his boyfriend by the small of his back. His embrace tightened the slightest, and both males could feel each other's muscles tense against each other, yet… it almost made them realise that they were different in size. Arthur was slimmer. He ate less. He was skinny. Francis was well-shaped. He had thicker arms. Yet, at the same time, he was slim. He was more feminine than Arthur. But he was dominant. He wasn't as soft. Francis was beautiful in his own way. But so was Arthur. Neither male believed that about themselves, though. All they did was admire the other. "You're often in the clouds."

"It's better there than here…," the Englishman said with a certain sadness in his voice, which made Francis cringe on the inside. "I don't feel alone, because it feels like I'm with someone."

"What, like flying mint bunny?"

"Who told you that?!"

"You, obviously, when you were drunk one night," Francis laughed, which only caused laughter from the other male as well. Silence fell once more, and they stayed like that until the Frenchman's hands began to move and make soothing patterns upon Arthur's back. "Do you still feel alone when I'm around?"

Arthur hadn't said anything yet. He simply made a soft humming sound at the back of his throat, before he pulled away from Francis to look him straight in the eye.

"No, but…," he started, leaning into Francis' hand when the other male had decided he so suddenly wanted to caress his cheek. "…I feel weak around you."

"Weak?"

"Yeah, like…," Arthur began, before he reached his hand up to pull Francis' hand back down by his side, their fingers holding each other in a small hook gently. "I hate seeing your face so much sometimes. But, it's not… it's not that I despise you, although sometimes I wish I did. It's just… how do I put it…?"

"This is new to you then, isn't it?"

"What?"

"These feelings, being in love…," Francis' voice was but a whisper, but it was loud and musky enough to carry through the air and play a serenade for Arthur's ears. He had so many flaws but Arthur seemed to just overlook them now. No, not overlook, instead… he saw those flaws as a reminder that Francis was perfect. It hurt his heart. "…they're all new to you."

The Englishman turned his head away, refusing to make eye contact at that statement. He had guessed Francis was no way at all new to this. He was attractive, funny, a good cook, smelt nice all the time. He's definitely fallen in love many times before Arthur… or, at least, dealt with people falling in love with _him._ Arthur was just another person. That hurt his heart even more.

"I'm guessing you're not new to this," Arthur then finally spoke up, not wanting to see Francis' reaction to that. "You're so… calm, all the time; composed about everything. You turn me into a hot mess and you just… exist so calmly. _How?_"

"_You_ think _I'm_ calm? Composed, even? You're insane, Arthur, losing it!" Francis laughed, which caused the Englishman to snap his head back around and raise his fist to smack him right in the shoulder. As usual, the Frenchman apologised for bursting out in laugher, before forcing himself to calm down and be serious to the man who was currently speaking of things he's never spoken of with anyone else.

"God, asshole," Arthur snapped, speaking through clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry, really!"

"You say that all the time, but all you do is just brush shit off and laugh about it."

"I do not."

"You do so! You just did, frog!"

"I'm laughing because you completely missed the mark!"

"What mark!?"

Francis was silent, before the pink folds of his lips parted and words came out, "…about me being composed and existing calmly. I'm a mess. You and I: we're a mess."

"You're not a mess," Arthur debated, growing defensive as he folded his arms over his chest. "You're never a mess. You have flaws, but you're not a mess."

"That's what you think," Francis replied, before he pulled Arthur in by the waist and pecked him softly on the forehead. "I feel the same way as you, you know. Sure, I've dated people in the past, but I've never… fallen this hard before. I don't know what to do. I never don't know what to do. But you make me feel like… I don't know what to do. I'm lost, but… I feel so perfect just standing in this room with you. Does that make sense? Jesus Christ, Arthur, I'm supposed to be smooth as hell but you're the one turning _me_ into a hot mess!"

"Hot mess _my ass_," Arthur replied, having gone a new shade of red due to that certain confession from the other male. _Who would have thought?_ Francis _fucking_ Bonnefoy was just as much as a noob to 'love' as he was. Just when Arthur thought Francis knew everything about it. Maybe the Frenchman felt that way too, though – surprised that he, in all honestly, didn't know as much as he thought he did. "Just… just be yourself!"

"This is myself," Francis said, Arthur finally unfolding his arms to instead hold the other male gently by the shoulders. They were the same height, so no one's head had to be tilted, but… Arthur was smaller. Not by much, but he was thinner in size. Francis guessed that's what made him _look_ shorter; look more inferior. "You need to be yourself, too. I fell in love with Arthur Kirkland. Not this… sad English boy."

"I'm not sad."

"You are so."

"I'm not sad."

"Says the one who has been crying these past few hours,"

Arthur fell silent after that, before… he felt honest joy on the inside. His heart felt _lighter._ A gentle smile was actually able to make it's away upon his lips, before he spoke up once more, "Asshole."

"I know," Francis replied, leaning forward to catch Arthur in a kiss. The Englishman pushed back, his hands moving to scrunch the sleeves of the other's shirt in a fist, before the two were broken from lip lock when they both pulled away almost hesitantly. "But I'm an asshole who's in love; you can't get angry at me."

"I can get angry at you all I want, frog," Arthur replied, but not in an annoyed tone, but in a rather playful one. "Being 'in love' doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

"But I can do this, oui?"

It was then that Arthur was gently ushered backwards until the back of his legs had hit the bed, immediately making him sit down upon it. Francis approached him, and he moved himself back a little as the other crawled his way towards him like a lion does to its prey. It made Arthur feel small. Made him feel… sexy.

"Well, may I?" Francis asked, whispering with each word as his voice carried along so… huskily. It matched his rather rough look. But the contradicting softness also matched his gentleness. Arthur wanted to be touched. He _needed_ to be touched… even if that scared the living daylights out of him.

Francis was levered right above him at this point, and Arthur could foresee a tent pitching in his pants soon enough. _He was so hot._ Francis was unbelievably sexy. With each word, each breath, each muscle movement… _perfect._

"Yes… yes, I said you can _way_ earlier, idiot," Arthur replied, his hands gripping at the bed sheets tightly when he felt one of Francis' cold hands sneak in from beneath his shirt and make its way up his body, lifting the fabric to reveal bruised skin one time. It wasn't until he felt lips peck at his bruises that Arthur rolled his head back and felt constriction around his heart.

_God, it hurt_. It hurt so much. Not psychically, but emotionally. He didn't want Francis to see. But he wanted Francis to fix it. He wanted Francis to kiss his bruises. Kiss his cuts. Kiss his body. Kiss _him._ Make him feel beautiful, so Arthur could finally believe him.

He wanted to _cry._ And so, he did… but silently.

"God… Francis, I can't…," Arthur stammered, the hem of his shirt being lifted up to his collarbones so his whole torso was exposed for display. There were bruises mostly at his ribs, but also upon his chest and his hips. Francis kissed each and every one of them. And it wasn't just an angelic kiss; it was… a rough kiss. A kiss that pressed down on his bruised skin and reminded him of the pain. But that's what made it feel so good, because he knew it was _Francis_ kissing his painful bruises – no one else, just _Francis_.

"Even when bruised, you're so beautiful, Arthur…," Francis whispered, his hands moving to rest comfortably upon Arthur's chest, where the Englishman then held them tightly. Tears were welling at his hazel eyes at this point, simply because he felt _so_ _naked._ He didn't want Francis to see. He didn't, but… he couldn't stop him. Because it felt like that for once his life was going on the right track. "Look at all this evidenced that you have lived, my love. I'm so glad you're here. I'm so glad, Arthur. I love you."

"I love you too," Arthur whispered, barely audible in this silent atmosphere. His throat was tight, that was why. It hurt so much to suppress the urge to splutter and cry out loud again. But with all his might, he was able to. "Je… Je t'aime, aussi…"

Arthur felt Francis' lips smile against his stomach, and it made the muscles there tighten. He eventually loosened up, however, as he took in deep breaths and forcibly calmed himself. He was still so shaken up about what happened at the party, Francis knew that, but the fact wouldn't stop either male from doing such an activity that involves lovers.

"It's a shame these bruises weren't caused by me…," Francis muttered, as Arthur felt his lips tighten around a part on his stomach, just above his hip bones. "…but I'll leave you some, _non_… I'll leave you many…"

Arthur couldn't hold it in anymore. He rolled his head back furthermore as his upper back slightly lifted up from the bed, a drawn-out yet quiet moan passing his lips. Due to such sensitive skin, goose bumps riddle his flesh with each new touch and new kiss. It was such a strong sensation that Arthur was beginning to feel less blue. He felt more… erotic.

"You won't even recognise your own body in the morning, Arthur…," Francis said after pulling away, giving off a certain vibe that the Englishman could just _tell_ he was smirking in triumph for marking him. "You won't even recognise ."

"Stop talking then, _ah_…," Arthur murmured, his hand reaching up to hold Francis by the back of his head when the long-haired blond leant down to kiss at his hardened nipple. The cold hair sent chills across him, but the feeling of a warm tongue upon an extremely sensitive part of his body just made the blood rush to Arthur's arousal. He definitely was hardening at this point. "…and, and… _nghhh…_ t-touch me…"

The Englishman took in a sharp breath when he felt Francis drag his tongue against the pink of his flesh, all before there was a tightness of the other's lips followed by the sensation of sucking. In the meanwhile, whilst one of Francis' hands held Arthur's tightly, the other brushed over his other nipple to pull and softly twist at the bud.

That usual feeling of heat arising to his cheeks came to Arthur once more. He remembered that sensation so clearly – it was practically whenever Francis would mess with him and he got embarrassed. But it wasn't a bad embarrassment; it was a good one, if there was any. But the feeling of that made him feel so good, and it reminded him of those times with Francis.

He just couldn't stop thinking about him. Like with that businessman. He couldn't stop thinking about Francis. But now it was Francis touching him. That meant… _he could touch him back._

Arthur allowed a soft sigh to leave his lips when Francis finally pulled away from ravishing his chest, where he not only simulated his sensitive nipples, but left a few hickeys upon his collarbone and downwards.

"Francis," Arthur said, as he sat up when the other moved back to hold his arms up above his head. That's when the Frenchman proceeded to grab the hem of his long-sleeved shirt and pull upwards, before undressing him of it and discarding it carelessly somewhere in the room.

"Hm?" the long-haired blond replied, biting down on his lip when he felt hands grab at his sides, before his own shirt was pulled off of him – leaving both males sitting in each other's company, shirtless, in this cold and quiet night.

"I'm… I'm not scared," the Englishman finally said. Although there was coldness about because of the night, there was certain heat, too… from their bodies, of course. They had only just started and they were both turned on – with tinted cheeks, sweating foreheads, erratic breathing patterns. Arthur was hardened, and Francis was on his way, too. "Like—well, no, I… I _am_ because I've never… but…"

"You can touch me, Arthur, if that's what you're trying to say," Francis said, cutting him off only to finish off the other's sentence seeing as he was a little tongue-tied. With his legs folded beneath him, Arthur shuffled back a little until he was on all fours. It wasn't until he felt pecks upon his chest that Francis leant back with a quiet moan. "_Hmm_… didn't expect you to be so bold, though…"

"Well, you're… you're taking your time, _idiot_," Arthur replied, a little pleased on the inside when he felt Francis' hand reach for the back of his head as he kissed down his torso. Moans filled the room now, but they were quiet and subtle, and almost unheard. But they were _Francis'._ And that was the most precious sound in the world to Arthur.

Whilst Arthur wore sweatpants, Francis simply wore boxers. And, so, the hem of the silk fabric was pulled down – in which he helped with when he moved to sit on his ass with Arthur in between his legs – before his boxers were tossed across the room. The Englishman was nervous, obviously, simply because he hadn't gotten to this base with any one before. He had hoped he wouldn't grip too hard or not suck hard enough. He had hoped his gag reflex wouldn't make things harder or he'd accidentally bite down. _He was nervous, but…_ he was also turned on by the whole factor.

Francis had his arms leant backwards to support his leaning body as his head was rolled back. He moved his hips upwards the slightest when he felt Arthur take hold of the base of his arousal, before giving a soft peck to the shaft. When The Englishman had done so, he noticed the muscles of Francis' thighs tighten with anticipation and eagerness… and it was then that Arthur had decided there was nothing more alluring than that. He smirked at the thought. His lips bravely moved against Francis' aroused organ as he slightly stuck his tongue out once more to take another taste of the other male – he tasted the delicious. The salty tang of the Frenchman's pre-ejaculation upon his tongue had caused the short-haired blond to bite down on his lip to prevent any sort of noise that would escape his lungs.

"_Ahh__…_ Arthur, _merde_…," Francis moaned, his whole body tightening up when he felt a wet warmth engulf the tip of his arousal. His hips moved up then, forcing the other blond to take him deeper into that wet cavern, which was so tight it was pure euphoria for the Frenchman. He almost couldn't believe _the_ Arthur Kirkland was doing this to him right now. He was the opposite of a sex god, despite his irresistible looks.

Francis had become quite verbal by the time Arthur managed to take him in completely, and it was times like this that he was glad he wasn't _too _large. He didn't want to run the risk of doing some rookie mistake like accidentally bucking his hips too much and choking his boyfriend. Things were so good right now. He didn't want this to end.

He noticed Arthur's eyes drift close eventually as sweat had plastered his locks to his forehead and the sides of his face, continuing to suck Francis' member. Arthur had an expertise with his tongue despite being a virgin. He was no expert at this, pretty far from it actually, but his body had begun to simply move on his own like he was a puppet drawn upon strings. He felt as if he had no control over his body anymore – that lust, passion and eagerness were the things controlling him now. But... he _loved_ it. He felt so good, just being touched or touching the other. He wasn't scared anymore.

He's read of such things in a book once, unintentionally, really. Although he wasn't the perverted man, he had imagined what it was like, like everyone else would when reading such a book. However, he would have never thought it would be so fulfilling and gratifying. Yet, Arthur had a feeling that he was yet to experience the best part of tonight.

With that thought in mind, Arthur slowly released Francis' pulsing member, a mixture of drool and pre-ejaculation running down his chin from the corner of his mouth. As he smirked up at the other male, he began to pump his member in hope of making him feel the most intense pleasure. In a way, that could be his way of saying thanks... but, really, he honestly did want Francis to enjoy himself as much as he was.

It was easy to see that Francis was on the edge of his climax, but he didn't allow himself to cum when he smirked down at this boyfriend who was previously performing fellatio and pulling him closer towards him as he lay on his back. With Arthur levered above him, both males took the initiative to share a few heated kisses, before the Frenchman eventually flipped Arthur over so he was on top.

"What are you planning…?" Arthur asked, completely out of character as _pure_ hormones drove him now. His eyes were half-lidded as green flames radiated through the dark night. His lips curled into the perfect smirk, with cheeks burning a deep red colour due to the excessive blood rush. He was _perfect_ right now.

"You'll see," Francis replied, before moving himself into a '69' position, where he, himself, was given the chance to give Arthur that exact same feeling of euphoria he just experienced. All he heard from Arthur was a soft laugh, one that spoke 'naughty', before he felt his arousal grabbed once more and being licked, kissed and sucked. That was when Francis began to return the favour.

He began to pump the other's member with his fingers wrapped around the shaft securely whilst he kept his mouth open, tongue sticking out only slightly as he lapped at the sensitive head. He noticed the small and subtle responses from Arthur – the quiet moans and vibrations of his throat against his own shaft, the way his legs would slightly move, or the way his toes would curl. Francis almost felt _proud_ that he was able to make Arthur feel so impatient.

However, he soon decided that he wanted to feel all of Arthur inside of his mouth, and so Francis soon placed his lips around the other's head, sucking softly, before leaning down and taking him whole. His head moved alongside the Englishman's hips, bobbing up and down as his sucking got more and more intense with each thrusting. As he continued giving him head, however, Francis moved his fingers to rub against Arthur's shaft the slightest – and that's when he felt lips release his shaft as a loud moan ripped through the atmosphere.

"Sh-shit! Francis! _Ahhh!_" Arthur practically screamed, feeling the other's tongue drag along his balls reaching his entrance. He felt weak in the knees. He couldn't believe how _wonderful_ it felt to be eaten out. The way Francis' tongue would move against his entrance, giving moisture to the virgin ring, as his hand continued to pump at his hardened arousal… It was then that he was soon found growing close to release and he trembled hard under his Francis' hand. His head shifted from left to right in his pleasure, and his toes curled hard enough to make them pop around the sheets.

"F-Francis, I'm gonna cum," he whispered breathlessly, trying to focus so hard on not doing so because he didn't want to seem inferior in front of the other. But, that was almost impossible at this point. "P-Please, Francis," he moaned breathlessly, trying to either warn the other man of his impending climax, "Please… Please… I—Ahhh!"

Arthur couldn't even stop himself to breathe when his back was arched; hips bucked and thick white streams were shot from his member all across Francis' face and chest, making him shiver and shake with the remnants of his pleasure. _Francis was amazing._

"My, my, Arthur...," Francis said slowly, using his finger to scoop up the ejaculation that had shot onto his chest, before popping the finger into his mouth and savouring the taste of _purely_ Arthur. "You're such a delicious treat. And, look, you came everywhere...," he ended with a soft chuckle, before scooping up any access cum on his face and tasting the white substance. _Sweet._ It was so very sweet. Almost addictive to Francis.

However, obviously Arthur didn't grow one bit at all accustomed to the praise. He, instead, allowed Francis to unmount him as he lay lazily on the bed, his arms covering his extremely deep-red face.

"D-Don't say stuff like that, frog…," he replied with complete and utter embarrassment. He gained more composure over himself, even if it wasn't much, and so he finally began to realise what they had just _done._ It didn't make him feel less… aroused, though – just embarrassed. "I don't need your commentary at all—"

He was cut off when his arms were brought down from his face, only to find Francis right above him. Arthur's thick eyebrows creased downwards, as he looked away. However, the Frenchman only made him look right back at him, before pecking him softly upon the lips.

"Désolé…," he responded, leaning down once more and pressing his lips against Arthur's longer this time. Their kiss was prolonged, all until his hand moved to pump the Englishman's deflated member in hope of making him hard again. When they pulled away, Arthur's breathing shifted, and their lips stayed _barely_ brushing against each other so they could notice every little feature that differed.

"…Sure… y-you always… say that, _ah__…_," Arthur breathed, his eyes drifted close as his hands moved to grip Francis' forearms – where his fingernails dug deep into the pale flesh one time and leaving red claw marks in his wake. "But you don't… _mean it__…_"

"Hm… true…," Francis continued, moving his hand in a slower pumping manner as he pulled harder, making Arthur arch his back the slightest and buck his hips as if he was wanting to _feel_ more friction. Despite reaching his climax, he was still ready for more. "I just like teasing you, I guess…"

"T-Tch, you're the worst…," Arthur said, only earning a smirk from his boyfriend. It was then that Francis finally pulled away and began going through the bedside tables. The Englishman didn't bother opening his eyes as he knew what he was going to get – condoms. They were unused, of course, but they weren't a new box. Francis had gotten them _months_ ago, a while before they started dating, and it made Arthur a little glad that they stayed untouched until now. It was like the Frenchman wasn't even _planning_ to do any sexual advances until Arthur was ready. That was what made the Englishman fall even more in love, seeing as Francis was previously sexually active.

The crinkle of a condom was sounded, all before Francis rolled the latex onto his hardened dick. It was then that Arthur finally opened his eyes, only to find Francis smearing lube onto his arousal before rubbing some against his entrance. The short-haired blond responded positively as he gripped the bed sheets tightly, feeling a single digit enter. He didn't _dare_ to look at Francis in the eye whilst he was moaning and squirming beneath him. Instead, he stared at his body – the Frenchman had one hand continuing to pump his shaft whilst his other hand stretched Arthur's hole. He was a delicious sight.

Soon enough, a second finger was eased in, and communication wasn't even needed in between the two as Francis focused _purely_ on Arthur's physical responses. His body tensed up, and so did his face, but otherwise he wasn't too uncomfortable – he looked more in pleasure than in pain. And so, Francis continued to scissor him for a while before allowing the third finger to enter. It was then that Arthur had scrunched up his face, fingers curling deeply into the bed sheets he grabbed. It hurt him, definitely, but it wasn't so much that he needed to stop. He was going purely for the fact that it felt wondrous to have Francis inside of him.

"How are you feeling?" Francis asked. When his three digits had fully entered Arthur, he took a moment to slowly and softly rock them back and forth, in and out of him. Arthur responded to his action by biting down on his knuckle and closing his eyes tightly – quiet moans sounding from him as his breathing picked up.

"B-Better, I'm… I'm ready…," the Englishman eventually replied breathlessly, widening his legs the slightest and allowing another moan to sound from his lungs. Over time, Francis rocks turned into thrusts - causing Arthur to become all moans and heavy pants. For Francis, Arthur was so tight... and, seeing as impatience had finally gotten the best of him, Francis pulled his three fingers out after making sure that he had worked well enough upon the other's entrance and that he was okay, to instead grab hold of his pulsing erection.

"May I?" Francis asked, already knowing the answer, as he fought back a moan and directed the head of his arousal to Arthur's slightly stretch entrance, taking a moment to breath in sharply as goose bumps rose all over his sweat-coated skin.

"Yes… yes… _fuck me…_," Arthur pleaded, moving his hips against Francis' as he physically begged for more. Francis almost lost it then and there. However, after gaining his composure, Francis eventually did slowly begin to enter Arthur – his erection being eaten up slowly; inch-by-inch, until he was fully in. The Frenchman stopped them, leaning down to plant soft kisses by Arthur's neck in hope of soothing the pain he felt, if any.

"Tell me when…," Francis said against Arthur's flesh, deciding to suck and nibble upon his boyfriend's neck instead of just placing kisses. So, when he went to sit back, he released the pale flesh with a soft 'pop' where he had taken note he left an extremely dark red, purple-ish mark. He smirked down upon it with slitted eyes, as if he were pleased with his art work like all of his other hickeys.

"I-I'm good, Francis, _shit…_," Arthur said, moving his legs inwards tighter so they wrapped around Francis' waist tightly, as his hands reached for the pieces of bed sheets above his head, feeling all too in ecstasy. "Move, dammit!"

Due to the sudden outburst, Francis smirked greatly as he turned his attention back to the actual male lying beneath him with spread legs. He took hold of Arthur's hips and softly rocked his own back and forth to grow used to being inside of him, which only caused Francis to bite down on his lip and bowing his head forward as locks fell over his face – all to only prevent a moan that wanted to escape.

In the meanwhile, Arthur's soft gasps quickly turned into loud moans and cries of ecstasy as he felt his boyfriend move harder and harder inside him. He shook, shivered, and arched as he thrust down to meet each of the other man's.

"Francis," he sobbed dryly as his thin body curled up underneath his boyfriend's and willowy arms secured themselves around his neck. Fingers tangled in his hair, clenched and pulled in great amount due to the overwhelming feelings of complete exhilaration. "F-Francis, _fuck_, I can't—"

He broke off with another loud moan ripping from his lungs when he felt fingernails digging deeply into his flesh, the pain only making it feel more pleasurable. It was then that Francis picked up his pace - his rocks now turning into thrusts, just like his fingers had before – as he rolled his head back and tightly shut his eyes and his mouth stayed slightly ajar in a deranged 'o' shape. At this point, he himself was at the point of no more self-control, and his hips began to move more comfortably and efficiently.

"Oh my God, Francis! Fuck yeah!" Arthur screamed – his head rolled back alongside his eyes, as his own fingernails began to claw up and down the other's back. He left claw marks that won't fade by the morning, and had even broken the skin which caused Francis to respond more aggressively. Right now, the two had completely lost themselves. "Fuck me harder!_ Ah!"_

After a while of going at a medium pace, Francis finally began to use all of his strength and speed to pound into Arthur, over and over again - as his member would almost fully come out, with only his head in, only to slam right back into the English boy. Francis moaned deep and loudly, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face and chest. It must've been pride, or something like that, but Francis didn't want to come before Arthur did. So, using one hand, he gripped the base of his boyfriend's erection and began to pump him once more, as quiet moans slipped past his lips.

Whilst Arthur was all moans and screams, he thought for sure he would die from excessive stimulation when he felt Francis' firm hand was wrapped around his renewed erection. At least if he did go, it would be happy. His love was with him, inside him, and treating the situation like they were both something special. He couldn't help the soft smile on his face at the thought.

He leaned forward as his moans grew in fervour and volume to press his cheek to his Francis', gently nuzzling the side of his face with appreciation and the love of a significant other before kissing his temple. It was quickly smothered, however, when he leant his head far backwards to allow more loud moans to rip from his throat once more.

"Shit! Francis, I'm going to cum!" he screamed, small hands holding his boyfriend by his back, as he held him so tightly as if his life depended on it. Soon enough, with a loud scream of the other's name, he came hard once more between them, making a mess of them both – a man who hadn't known his own pleasure in a long time. His body shook as he was continuously pounded into, far too over-sensitive from two orgasms in quick succession.

Tears of exhaustion filled his eyes as he came down from his high, allowing his body to be used until Francis was able to find his own, long sought after pleasure. It came to him almost instantaneously, however.

As adrenaline rushed through his veins, Francis felt the extreme abundance of tightness around his dick due to the enclosure of Arthur's inner walls, and it was then that he couldn't take it anymore. So, he pulled out, only to rip the condom off of his arousal quickly, before he quickly entered once more with a few more thrusts, finally cumming with a loud moan of the other's name. Arthur moaned alongside him due to the feeling of sticky warmth being shot into his tight but well-fucked hole.

Coming down from his high, and taking a few seconds to catch his breath, Francis pulled out again, before collapsing onto Arthur in a mixture of exhaustion and post-pleasure. Both males had slow and heavy breaths, skin coated in sweat and body heat flaring from his cheeks. Though, Francis was the one to speak up with a small smile upon his rosy lips. "I love you, Arthur… I love you so much…"

"I love you too, Francis…," Arthur replied, allowing his hazel eyes to drift close, the fire in them finally burning out as sleepiness had finally decided to take over. The same effect washed over Francis, and so he rolled to his side so he lay beside his lover, before – as usual – he wrapped his arm around the other's frame and pulled him close in his embrace. That's when they simply laid there, slowly drifting into unconsciousness.

Arthur didn't feel so scared anymore. He felt… complete. He didn't regret anything, except for going off at Francis, of course. But he felt as if the whole party ordeal didn't even matter anymore. If it weren't for that, tonight may have never just happened. And to Arthur, he wouldn't have traded this night for anything in the world.

Francis Bonnefoy, just a boy he had met through fate, turned out to become the most important thing in this life. It hurt when he reminded himself they weren't going to be together like this forever. He never did plan on falling in love. _That _was the only thing he was scared of_ – leaving_. Leaving Francis behind. Leaving for England. He didn't want to leave at all. He wanted to stay. He wanted to stay in Francis' arms forever. And, yet, he had a feeling that things would only go downwards from here.

Hopefully it didn't. _He was so consent._ He was so consent by Francis' side – the hopeless romantic photographer. Yet, it was funny. He didn't have that hobby just for the heck of it. He took photos for a reason. He took photos to capture the moment. It wasn't to prove he was there; to prove that he was present. It wasn't solely for work. It was to show how lonely he was. It was to show that he was left aside from the bright things in life. However, Arthur noticed that as of late, his photographs have changed. They seemed to have a different aura about them. _They seemed happier._ All because of him… honestly, who would have thought Arthur's temporary co-worker could be so romantic?

Arthur Kirkland was in love.

* * *

**A/N: The writer's block was strong this time. Hopefully this little scene of smut was satisfying. Since this is over and done with now, don't be surprised if there are more sexual themes in future chapters. ^^**

**I know my editing skills are super shit most of the time, so excuse that. ;u; I _would_ get myself a Beta, I'd just feel bad for sending them 7000-8000 word long DocX's each time, so feel my pain! **

**Anyways, t****hanks for reading and sticking by me this far! I appreciate it 100% because it supports me a lot, especially after dealing with so much shit lately. B) **

**Merciiiiii, tout le monde!**


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